


Commander's Situation Report

by Beanwhile



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dominance, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fraternization, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gun Kink, Gyms, Hair-pulling, Inanimate Objects, Kissing, Licking, Light BDSM, M/M, Making Up, Making-Up Sex, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Naked Cuddling, Paranoia, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Big Bang, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Canon, Surprise Party, Surprises, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Voyeurism, implied sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: General Hux has not bothered with labelling his sexual preferences, all the more since they have little to do with acquiring his rank or doing his job. He’s never found himself attracted to men. He’s found himself attracted to women—very strong women, who could easily bend his spine like it was made of flimsi. He’s ashamed of his recent attraction to Phasma, whom he has known for years and respects more than anyone else in his life. An event at the officers’ gym and an evening spent drinking is all she needs to know it, and they enter a mutually beneficial, off-duty relationship where Phasma gives free reign to being mean, and Hux is on the receiving end—and loving every second.As time passes it becomes evident that their needs and desires do not completely overlap. Hux starts noticing the pleasant build of Lieutenant Mitaka’s body, and Phasma does not waste a chance pointing it out herself. Being the more practical, she does exactly what both of them need—and suggests Mitaka joins in. Hux has to find out for himself how attraction to very strong men (who could easily bend his spine like it was made of flimsi) works, and come to terms with the changes that will affect his personal life.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> ———  
> Created for the [Star Wars Polyamory Big Bang](http://swpolyamorybigbang.tumblr.com/).  
> Art by [kasamon](http://kasamon.tumblr.com/).  
> Beta work by [isharan](http://isharan.tumblr.com/)  
> ———  
> For the purposes of this fic, the Finalizer shifts are scheduled: Aurek: 0000-0800; Besh: 0800-1600; Cresh: 1600-0000.

            On rare occasions, Hux wondered whether it would be useful to be Force-sensitive, especially if the Force could somehow warn one _not_ to get out of bed.

            That morning he could have definitely used the warning.

            His alarm tore him from sleep in a manner so violent he needed a minute to gather his wits and remember who he was. General Hux, currently aboard his ship the _Finalizer_ ; he had to get up and prepare for the day. The sheets had wrapped around his legs and refused to let him go at first, so he had to fight his way out of bed.

            Once the trials of awakening had been overcome, more trouble waited for him in the ‘fresher. He slipped and almost fell; and to top it all, he was fresh out of hair pomade. His spare bottle was nowhere to be found. While he was looking for it the rest of the items comprising his toiletries were kind enough to tumble, fall, and scatter, as if he had shot at them.

            With his nerves taut as a bowstring even before he had left his quarters, he had little choice but to forsake habit and go take out his frustrations on the gym equipment. He didn’t want to risk blowing up in the face of the first officer to deliver unpleasant news. Or trip into a mouse droid in the middle of the bridge and make himself into a laughingstock.

            _They will manage without you_ , he told himself while putting on his gym clothes: running shoes, shorts, a t-shirt. _You’ve picked the best out of the very best for the explicit purpose of overseeing people who don’t need much overseeing to begin with_. There was little use for staff who would panic and overload his comlink at the first sign of trouble.

            And yet, some days he felt like a father to at least eighty thousand.

            He rushed out of his quarters and his gym sack slammed into the door. The inertia of the hit nearly staggered him, but he managed to clench his teeth, readjust the strap, and stomp off to the gym without bursting into a screaming, cursing mess. On the way, he made a note to stock up on pomade from Supplies.

            He hoped the water he had used to slick his hair would hold at least until the gym, where there were plenty of excuses to look ruffled. Of course, the ideal situation would be for the place to be empty—but if his morning was anything to judge by, there would be at least half a dozen people, each more eager to talk to him than the last. He prayed Phasma wouldn’t be there; nothing would be as humiliating as seeing her on a day when control and grace were slipping him from the moment he had cracked his eyes open. They had seen each other in many less-than-stellar situations, but he hoped to avoid one today.

            As expected, the transitional hours between shifts, especially between cycles, meant the gym was all but empty. Close to the entrance, Kaplan was skipping on a rope and muttering a semi-impressive number for an officer of his rank. Physical examinations were much stricter for the resident battalion of troopers and pilots than officers; it pleased Hux to see unprompted body care from his subordinates. Kaplan noticed him and slowed down the rope.

            “As you were, colonel.” Hux waved off the anticipated salute. Kaplan saluted him regardless, and continued with his routine.

            Further in, two people were chatting and counting; their conversation accompanied by occasional groans and squealing metal. Someone was lifting weights. Hux recognized at once the cheery, sonorous voice, and to his great misery—the other one, too. The steel of authority, the emphasis at the end of sentences, hammering the point in; the slight disdain, as if the owner would rather be elsewhere: it was Phasma.

            Hux considered turning on his heel and hiding under his bed until his day agreed to cooperate with him by turning at least a bit better.

            Passing by a row of hyperextension benches, he saw her lying down and bench-pressing what looked like enough weight to kill anyone who would attempt to imitate her. She was drenched in sweat, and it dripped from her arms, her bare abdomen, her legs. Her hair was such a mess it was almost cute, though he would never use the word out loud.

            If appearances could kill, Phasma could fell entire armies dressed in nothing but her sportswear. Hux could weep looking at her. A twitch of her muscles could break him in half like a dry twig. She could bench press him, Kaplan, and Datoo all at once without even bothering to concentrate. Hux thought it impossible for a human body to be that powerful, that perfect and beautiful, yet there she was, a masterpiece of a human being.

            He had a moment and a half to change his mind and run for the showers before she saw him. Despite the stressful wake-up, seeing her like that shot straight to his imagination and the additional imagery made him shift his weight from foot to foot.

            They had known each other forever, and had been colleagues for a slightly shorter time. His respect, admiration, and a certain feeling of warmth towards her hadn’t changed—only lately, said warmth had begun kindling desires of a very sexual nature, which resisted his every effort to suppress them.

            Under normal circumstances, Hux considered himself an exemplary officer. He was ambitious; cunning; had climbed the ranks like a flight of stairs; he had _never_ been caught unprepared, or looking anything short of perfect. He was an example for the entire Order, and had no desire to change that.

            Nobody needed to know that in the privacy of his mind, Hux longed for nothing but someone bigger and stronger to have their way with him and leave him drained and boneless. If he were allowed to show his endless gratitude by offering pleasure of any kind, that would be a good bonus.

            It had to be a woman, though. He drew the line there, having felt little attraction of any kind towards male-presenting officers.

            It had to be Phasma, ideally. She was perfect. She was also his colleague, whom he happened to respect, and whose opinion he valued. Using her image as a means to get off was foul of him, unprofessional and … _wrong_. It certainly felt like that most of the time, save for those occasions when they saw each other at the gym and he was blessed to catch a glimpse of her body. Afterwards he endured the misery until he caved in, locked himself in his bedroom, and masturbated to the thought of her coming close to breaking him.

            It wasn’t too late to turn around and—

            “General Hux.” Her voice lilted at the final syllable. “Rare to see you here.”

            Hux had to satisfy himself with a slow blink instead of closing his eyes and releasing a long-suffering sigh.

            “Captain Phasma.” He let his features relax, and approached her and her companion. As much as he wanted to, smiling at her was a dangerous thing: despite their closeness, he wanted to maintain an image where their relationship was, for the most part, professional. She had her helmet, which saved her a lot of trouble, but Hux had no such luxury at his disposal, and had to constantly be aware of his facial expression. Her rare smiles made him grin and laugh with joy, which was precisely why he avoided provoking them.

            “And Lieutenant Mitaka?”

            Mitaka, who had just taken the weights from Phasma, huffed in acknowledgement. “I will salute in less than five seconds, sir, just…” He invested his last breath into putting the weights back into their hold.

            Hux was amazed by this demonstration of physical strength. He had never seen someone keep up with Phasma and not end up in the medbay immediately afterwards. While the lieutenant was distracted with catching his breath and drying his face from the sweat, Hux took the opportunity to examine his body. The lieutenant’s legs looked like they could easily strangle a man.

            “As you were, Lieutenant.” Hux stood at ease. “I must say, it’s all the more rare to see _you_ here.”

            As a lieutenant, Mitaka had no business in the gym reserved for the top brass living on the level. Regardless, the offence was minor enough and it would cost him nothing to listen to an excuse if there was one.

            “He’s here at my behest,” Phasma explained. “I need someone who can keep up with me. And the other gyms are crammed.”

            Hux used the opportunity to give Mitaka’s body another once-over. “I am impressed, Lieutenant. Captain Phasma’s gym routines often break body and ego alike.”

            Mitaka laughed while wiping sweat off his forehead again. In gym clothes and with his hair an absolute mess, he looked young enough to pass for a cadet, at least until he took off enough clothes to put to shame the younglings who could barely survive the morning routines. Hux wondered how many of his other officers looked so different when out of uniform.

            “I can feel it for myself, sir. She’s been merciless these days.”

            “You benefit from a certain amount of rough handling, Lieutenant,” Phasma informed him. She turned around to throw a glance at him while reaching for her own towel. “Don’t complain.”

            “I would never,” Mitaka promised.

            Hux smiled at the easy banter between them. Sure, Phasma sounded as strict and condescending as always, but there was little bite behind her words. They had certainly trained together for a while, else Mitaka would’ve been dismissed by now. Hux wondered what else he didn’t know about people he considered rather close to himself, especially Phasma.

            She gave Mitaka a glare, which was her equivalent of a friendly towel swat, and turned to face Hux again. “Are you here to try yourself against me?”

            He laughed at the thought even before the pitiful image of him spotting for her could form in his mind.

            “I like my intestines where they are, thank you,” he said with a shake of his head, and gestured towards the treadmill. “I’ll take on challenges my own size today.”

            Mitaka looked like he was about to comment on that statement, but his lips remained shut. Phasma merely nodded.

            Hux left them and placed his bag next to the treadmill. He began stretching his limbs, and avoided glancing at his fellow officers. The run would do him good; he only had to endure until he stepped onto the machine. Mitaka continued spotting for Phasma, but they did not continue the conversation. Hux was glad for the minimal distraction.

            He got onto the machine and set it to tear his heart out within half an hour. His legs were going to kill him come cycle change, but it was a good excuse to lock himself away in his office and do some extra filework in peace. He could almost feel the hellish clasp of his boots on his future swollen feet, and began running with even more determination.

            At some point Kaplan must’ve finished his routine, because he came to salute Hux. Hux nodded in acknowledgement, hoping the semi-casual atmosphere wouldn’t detain the colonel from going back to his duties.

            Of course, Kaplan lingered.

            “Sir, I was wondering if you’ve had the time to see the report on hangar bay control room safety I forwarded?”

            Hux reached out to tap the console of the treadmill and slow down to a walk. He wasn’t pleased about panting in Kaplan’s face like a pet eager to see him; yet under the circumstances, he reasoned, it wouldn’t devastate his image. Morale sometimes meant mingling with his subordinates on their own turf.

            He wanted to point out that if there had been no feedback from him, perhaps time hadn’t allowed him to get to it yet, so there was little point in bringing up the topic.

            (That was a lie. He had skimmed the report a week ago, and Kaplan’s request to be assigned to the project, but the filework involved was some of the pettiest detail-unearthing he could possibly think of. He had found neither the mood to read it, nor the excuse to delegate it to someone else. Safety was as tedious to maintain as it was important.)

            “I assume you would like me to recommend you for the project, Colonel?” Hux gave him a steady look. Kaplan, like his father, was brilliant in action, but not as good at documenting it. Even a superior’s authority could rarely press him into trying to do better, or faster.

            “Yes, sir,” the colonel confirmed.

            “Reforming structures for safety purposes is a lengthy and delicate task, Colonel,” Hux said. He congratulated himself on avoiding the question of the report reading. “I commend your initiative, but do you objectively feel yourself prepared to take the task on par with your regular duties? You oversee one of our busiest bays, after all, and the task cannot be delayed or delegated.”

            “You are, of course, right, sir,” Kaplan hurried to agree with him. “I think it’s a good reason to prioritize its security over others. I am willing to do my best for the project, sir.”

            “I am aware of your willingness, Colonel,” Hux reassured him. “It’s thoroughness that matters.”

            He stepped off the treadmill and rummaged through his gym bag for his personal datapad, which he extended towards Kaplan. “Put in the reference number,” he instructed. Of course, the colonel had it memorized. His fingers flew over the keypad to open the file for Hux.

            Hux read the summary and skimmed most of the contents. It looked like every other Report and Request of the type, with a petition for his signature at the end. He brought up a standard template of recommendation, filled in Kaplan’s data, and even forwarded the file so the cogs of the procedure could start spinning.

            “There,” he said, putting the device away. “I hope you won’t disappoint this extension of my trust, Colonel.”

            Kaplan beamed at him. He thanked Hux, saluted, and hurried out of the gym to attend to his shiny new responsibility.

            Hux looked at him going as an excuse to scout the rest of the place. Phasma and Mitaka were nowhere to be seen, so either they were in the showers, or done and away to attend to their respective duties.

            Temptation caressed his chest like a human hand. Having the showers all to himself meant a little alone time to get rid of his earlier excitement problem. A classic gym shower wank, just a little extra self-humiliation before he started the cycle.

            There was the sound of water pattering from only one other shower, probably someone who had just come in before training. Phasma and the lieutenant did not seem to be here, either; Hux found it surprising that Mitaka, otherwise such an excellent officer, had omitted to salute Hux before leaving. On the other hand, he reasoned, Phasma might’ve herded him out after Hux’s remark on utilizing rank-appropriate facilities.

            Even after all the intense exercise, arousal lingered in his groin and made him acutely aware of his cock. Careful not to let out a single sound, Hux turned on the stream and slid his fingers down his abdomen, until the tips ran through his pubic hair and touched upon the base. The thought of Phasma’s body came to his mind again, her chiselled abs and _oh_ , those arms that could crush his neck if she took him in a headlock and _flexed_.

            He gave himself a harsh stroke and bit down on his lip to stifle a moan. His other hand caressed his balls roughly enough to be threatening, though not so painfully as to kill his desire.

            She would push him down and pull his hair and disregard his rank like he was the meanest, lowest pleasure slave in th—

            “General,” her voice called from the other side of the cubicle door.

            He didn’t jump; or if he did, his feet didn’t completely lift from the floor. There was a squawk that almost made it out of his mouth, but he bit on its end and muffled the rest of it. For a moment he panicked, not knowing what to do with his cock, then he remembered that it was very much attached to his body; it wasn’t like he could throw it away, or as if the cause of his arousal was written over its length.

            “I thought you were gone,” he rasped to win time and steady his … everything. His heart was beating against his ribcage like it had the ambition to replace the ship’s reactor core.

            “I was on my way, but I recognized your sigh of utter vexation,” she informed him. The disdain in her voice gave way to amusement.

            There was a pause.

            “You weren’t having a shower wank, _were_ you?” she teased him. Her voice moved—she must’ve leaned on the wall separating the cubicles.

            He shut his eyes and allowed himself the most pained expression the shower walls would ever see from him. There was no way for her to know, but he didn’t want to evade the topic and make her suspicious. “If I had any intention to, it’s certainly gone after that reproachful tone of yours.”

            His cock, the unhelpful pest, had no intention of lowering its head. Phasma had seen him naked a couple of times, and yet the thought of her catching him like that, even if she didn’t know his thoughts, disturbed him. He turned around to look at the door that separated them.

            When she spoke again, her voice was even more amused. “No business of mine how you conduct your genitalia. Drinks tonight?”

            “Oh, sure,” he stuttered out in agreement. With his latest promotion and her increasing responsibilities with the troops, it felt like ages since they’d had a drink together. He felt even worse for accepting the invitation with a hard-on literally in his hands. “End of the cycle?”

            “An hour after,” she specified. “Have to finish my round.”

            “Noted.”

             “Please resume your jacking off,” she laughed on her way out.

            He closed his eyes and nearly banged his forehead against the wall. Even her foul language couldn’t make her voice sound bad. His thought crept towards Mitaka’s laugh and his easy smile, but he stopped himself in time, bit his lip, and set himself on the fast track to orgasm. His day had to start at some point.


	2. 2

            The treadmill had done him a lot of good, even if it hadn’t solved his every problem. He looked forward to the end of the cycle. It was a good thing to do something pleasant, rather than merely collapse in bed, reports or no reports to finish. Time spent with Phasma was time well spent: she didn’t gossip, according to her own words, yet she had a lot of anecdotes and sarcastic remarks in store every time Hux had the time to listen. She probably had a small speech about the disasters of Kaplan’s gym routine.

            On his part, he was rather curious as to how she and Mitaka had become gym buddies. Under normal circumstances, Phasma did not mix with officers unless duty demanded it. He couldn’t think of anything someone from bridge personnel could do to catch her attention.

            He remembered Mitaka’s smile and his laugh when Phasma had teased him. The image was so vivid he could almost interpose it on Mitaka’s on-duty appearance. Hux closed his eyes for a moment. He shouldn’t be this impressed by how his subordinates looked out of uniform. He shouldn’t be thinking about their appearances at all, unless there was something to reprimand. The fact that Mitaka had made such a strong impression on him was a little intimidating. What if he started looking at others?

            Guilt spread through his body like spilled liquid; a sluggish and unpleasant feeling. He would’ve turned his face away from himself, if he could.

            _Concentrate_ , he scolded himself. _What’s wrong with you these days_?

            He took measured breaths—in – out – in – out – in—and within a couple of minutes he felt better, calmer. He tried to imagine himself from another’s eyes: clean and faultless, an example for the _Finalizer_ crew and even the entire Order. So Lieutenant Mitaka may be rather physically attractive—good for him, as long as he kept to his duties.

            Hux’s mind was prone to distraction that day, but nobody noticed, which was a victory on its own. The relief he felt when he headed towards the officers’ bar in the recreational area was so strong he could’ve eased into it like a shuttle and let it drive him there.

            Phasma was nowhere to be seen at first glance, and a quick check with the serving droid confirmed she wasn’t there yet. That was understandable. Out of habit, Hux had arrived shortly after the end of the day cycle, when they had planned for an hour after. _Well then_ , he thought to himself while settling down in one of the private booths, _she won’t be too mad if I start without her_. They were long past the days of getting hammered and escorting each other back to quarters as if the floor plans were any easier to navigate with a fellow pissed friend.

            He closed his eyes to better enjoy the sip of Corellian whiskey, which burned its way from tongue to stomach. The following warmth was tingly, and pleasant—for a moment he was tempted to down the entire drink and order another. She wouldn’t approve—he too, wouldn’t approve. In the end he gave up—a throbbing hangover would hardly improve his mood in the morning.

            So he nursed his drink, letting his thoughts run this way and that, distracted by the unique buzz of a strong drink on a rather empty stomach.

            He knew he had a weakness for big and strong women—the bigger and stronger, the better. None of the women he’d slept with in his post-graduation years were anything like what he wanted; the sex had been pleasant enough, but always short of his preferences.

            Some of them had had matching enthusiasm for rough play, but none had volunteered to take over for the entirety of the act. Phasma would dislocate his shoulder and bend his spine like the cover of an RX droid before they had even reached the bed. And when they did, he would caress her thighs and kiss the underside of her breasts while she—

He stopped himself there before the fantasy could engulf his mind and tent his breeches. He felt guilty about those thoughts whenever she was physically close to him, yet every time his eyes lingered on the plates of her armour, his desire grew, rash-like in its persistence.

            He wished he could peel off those additional feelings like soaked gym clothes, shower, and emerge clean and unbothered by his nagging sexuality. He had appreciated the built of her body those times when he had seen it, certainly, but not in a sexual way—so why had he begun to think about her like that so much these past few months?

            His thoughts circled on that familiar track like he had on the treadmill. There was no getting anywhere. At least he wasn’t thinking about _Mitaka_.

            A couple of cheers from the other side of the bar made him look around for the source of the commotion. Phasma had taken off her helmet and put it under her arm, which was the most she did in public, even off-duty. She ordered a drink while waving her hand in the general direction of those who had greeted her.

            She eased on the seat across Hux and pushed her helmet away and against the wall while her other hand left the drink on the table.

            “Started without me?” she teased him. They clinked glasses to the Order, and drank.

            “You know what they say about old habits.” He shrugged in admittance to his fault.

            The conversation, as expected, took off with Phasma sharing her less than glowing opinions about everything that had happened recently. In many ways, it was like reading her reports: they were perfect on file, of course, but in his mind he always read them with the appropriate tones and grunts and exasperation. He had to suppress fits of laughter as she gave him a detailed presentation of how wrong Kaplan had done his exercises that morning. Hux didn’t want to interrupt—the fun was genuine—but there was no convenient gap or opportunity to “casually” ask about Mitaka.

            Finally, Phasma wrapped up her verbal assault and leaned back to pour her drink down her throat. Hux followed her example. For a couple of moments, they regarded each other with amusement in the settled silence. There was something odd about the way Phasma was boring her gaze into his, as if she could see beyond his eyes and straight into his thoughts.

            He inhaled and—

            “You were staring this morning,” she said. “At the gym.” Her voice lacked its usual dismissiveness and disdain for their imperfect realm. It was attentive and sharp like her gaze; it made Hux gape at her as if she’d just shot him.

            For the first time in years, he panicked and abandoned all reason. Years of military simulations and preparation hadn’t taught him how to react to point-blank friendly fire, all the more from a person who had his trust and respect. If it were a training simulation, he’d sneak, or try to earn time. He couldn’t slam his glass on the table and yell something stupid like: _Well you started it!_ Could he?

            Even with the significant effect of alcohol (or maybe because of it?), he decided telling the truth was best. He could shift the focus a bit. No harm done steering the topic into something close, yet infinitely safer to discuss.

            He nodded, and took a slow sip to demonstrate he wasn’t uncomfortable, or concerned by the question.

            “Can you blame me? You’re like a force of nature.” He frowned at his drink. “You could bend my spine enough to tie me into a knot before I’d realize I needed to get help.” He grinned at her, but Phasma’s expression held. She didn’t even blink. She was still looking for something despite the offered words. He had the awful feeling he wasn’t passing a test.

            Then all of a sudden she pushed her glass to clink against his and laughed. “That’s true,” she confirmed with smugness, and changed the topic.

            Hux heaved a mental sigh of sheer relief. He would live another day, and in medium rather than intense discomfort. The feeling was so powerful he completely forgot to ask Phasma how she’d enlisted Mitaka to spot for her. They hopped from topic to topic, until the chrono on the wall showed it was two hours after the last appropriate time for officers of their shift to be in bed.

            “Walk me to my room?” Phasma suggested while they were exiting the bar.

            _Oh?_

            “Captain Phasma is intimidated by the Cresh shift officers?” he teased her to hide his perked interest. He fell in step regardless, and was rewarded with a shoulder bump that all but sent him flying. Nothing less to be expected there.

            They walked in silence for a good while, nodding at people that passed by and saluted them. Well, Hux nodded. Phasma couldn’t be bothered with officer personnel.

            When Phasma spoke again, the corridor they were passing was ominously empty and still.

            “Are you interested in that kind of relationship?” she asked.

            “Beg pardon?” To his credit, he didn’t splutter, or if he did he could blame it on the alcohol.  His heart hammered against his ribcage.

            “Are you interested in the kind of relationship where, let’s say, I hurt and humiliate you for our mutual pleasure?” she elaborated.

            Hux’s breath died in his chest. He looked at her, pretending he was mulling over the question. If he had drank even a single glass more he would’ve said _yes_ and _please_ and _I beg of you_ before his brain had even registered what was happening.

            “And what depends on my answer?” he countered with a question of his own.

            Phasma sped up, but her expression didn’t change. “I suppose there’s an invitation for you to come in once we arrive,” she said. Her voice was quiet.

            Hux waited what he considered to be an appropriate time for someone who absolutely had not been thinking about this moment for months.

            “May I come in, then?” He crafted his reply with care, but made his tone light and playful. He didn’t want her to know exactly how interested he was in her offer.

            Phasma laughed. A tension between them he had not been aware of dissipated away with the echo of her laugher. His body felt lighter and he offered her a smile of his own.

            “Ever the military tactician,” she commented. They didn’t speak until they reached her quarters. With every step Hux felt the tension they had left behind wear off, and wondered if Phasma’s question had been the cause to tense both of them up so much.

            There was a dreamlike quality to everything about the situation, and the alcohol helped a lot with that. Despite his nervousness, his muscles felt oddly relaxed and if he didn’t concentrate he felt like he could spill across the floor like liquid. His skin was warm and sensitive to everywhere cloth rubbed against it, in anticipation of Phasma’s touch. It was pleasant around the hips and over his chest, both places he loved to be touched. He needed her to squeeze and press him with all her might.

            Phasma punched in the code and the doors parted.

            A full-body shudder shook Hux’s being to the core, as if he was suddenly submerged into cool water. Phasma had been in his quarters; he had been in hers. After one particularly bad drinking night back when they had first been stationed together, he had crashed on her couch. It amazed him how the turn of their relationship made the threshold to her personal space intimidating to cross.

            No sooner had the door closed than she discarded her helmet, turned around, and kissed him.

            To say that her lips were everything he had been dreaming of would be a lie. She was nothing like what he had imagined or thought: she was infinitely better. Every move and gesture of hers made so much sense considering her personality. His chest hurt with affection and desire.

            She wrapped her free arm around his waist and he melted into her embrace, let her pull him against her armour like _he_ was the love interest in a holodrama. He couldn’t even raise his hands to touch her. Where their bodies aligned, even through layers of uniform and armour, his skin burned.

            Oh, she was simply divine.

            Her lips parted but she did not push with her tongue, and so he followed the example and surrendered to her dominance. Her chapped lips pressed against his harder; he could do little but kiss her back, physically overwhelmed and barely processing the sensory overload at a time when it was crucial to do so. She kissed, more or less, the way she talked: assertive, leading him through it without a second thought, or thinking she could fail her task; like kissing him was the most important thing she had to do. Like pressing her lips against his with varying intensity and barely any break for breath was the action to decide the rise or fall of the Order. He would kiss her until he fainted for air, and try to continue after. He would die a happy man.

            Her arm tightened its hold around his waist and he let out a little moan of pleasure. It was impossible to contain all the emotions rising inside of him, he was going to fall apart. He could taste remnants of Corellian whiskey on her lips, though it probably came from him as much as it did from her. This close, he could also smell the chrome of her plates and the faint specific smell-taste of the well-preserved, well-cared-for body suit of the stormtrooper uniform. He dared raise his hand and touch the band around her neck, as of yet too fearful and respectful to lay hands on bare skin.

            The movement made her step back. Their mouths separated, but she still held him; for a while, they stood like that, blowing gentle puffs of air in each other’s faces. He could relax against her hold and she wouldn’t feel the difference, he was sure of it.

            “Should’ve done this sooner?” he suggested. His tone was barely above a whisper. He puckered his lips and pecked the rim of her bottom lip.

            She laughed. “We’re not even that drunk.” She kissed him again, and it was a short and gauging kiss: to see how pliant he was.

            “Is that the problem?” His body went stiff with the fear of being rejected now. He opened his eyes to seek her gaze.

            She considered him for a moment. “It’s definitely _a_ problem. Perhaps we should leave this for a sober day.”

            He began to move away, but she pulled him right back. The ammunition holders on her armour pressed against his abdomen and he let out a moan of surprise and pleasure.

            “Phasma… Please decide if you’re breaking me tonight or not, because those are mixed signals you’re sending me at the moment.” It was hard to be blunt about it; he wanted every second with her to last, but it hurt him more not to know for sure.

            Phasma swore and bit her lower lip. “You really … really want me to bend you over and have my way with you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

            “I don’t want. I’m _begging_ ,” he corrected her with only mild shame. There was something about her behaviour that threw him off, but the damn alcohol and his erection kept interfering with his reasoning.

            “You’re stalling,” he shot when he figured it out. “Phasma, if you don’t want this I’ll just go.”

            He was almost resigned to drowning his rejection misery in more alcohol and drunken attempts at masturbation, but at least the rip of the proverbial bacta patch could be fast.

            “What’s the rush?” Phasma scolded him, and bit his lip. He whimpered, but the pain was welcome and pleasurable. Something warm trickled from his mouth and for a moment he was scared he had drooled like a madman, but then Phasma’s tongue darted out and traced a ticklish line up his chin to his lip. She let out a short laugh.

            “On your knees.” Her words were a command, but her tone was light and… smug. She knew he would not hesitate. He pressed his bloodied lips against hers, and slid down to obey.

            Once on his knees and looking up, Phasma took his chin and turned his head around to examine him. A flash of intimidation made him shudder. Even if she was taller than he was, their height difference wasn’t one to constantly make him pay attention to it. Now he was aware what it was like for everyone else when she looked down on them. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t seen her and Mitaka stand next to each other, else he might’ve chuckled in Mitaka’s face.

            She ran her thumb over his bleeding lip and smeared the blood all over it. “I admit,” she began, “your enthusiasm caught me somewhat off-guard.” She continued examining him, turning his face this way or that. “Would be a shame to ruin this pretty face if you have work tomorrow, don’t you think?”

            His practicality fervently agreed with her: bacta did little to conceal bruising, something the body took its time with regardless of health. He still had to show up on the bridge the following day cycle. If the general showed up covered in bruises and cuts he refused to explain, there was going to be alarm and cacophony.

            In his pants, his dick couldn’t care less, as long as she abused his current position of disadvantage.

            “Why don’t you give me a demonstration instead?” Phasma prompted him.

            “You want me to entertain you?” Hux laughed.

            “Yes.” Her eyes gleamed in a way that set him on edge, and excited him even more.

            The blaster hanging on her hip moved as she shifted, drawing his eyes. There was a thrill in being so close to the muzzle. The weapon was loaded, and not even switched to Stun.

            He reached for it, for a moment mesmerized by the heat discharge openings, and wrapped his fingers around the barrel. Plasteel was hard to hold when one’s hand was gloved: that was why their weapons manufacturer added abrasive patches to enhance the grip.

            With less than a thought he swung the weapon to his face. As Phasma’s hand remained relaxed and the weapon was long, he had to pull back in order to face the muzzle. Phasma let go of him and her now free arm relaxed by her side.

            There was a moment of hesitation. What if he was making a mistake? What if everything else was okay, but this one act would revolt her? He was about to desecrate her weapon in front of her. Not everyone took that well. He knew he would be enraged if anyone but a few people even touched his blaster.

            “You’re not going to ask me to shoot you, now?” she murmured. If she had perceived his intentions, she didn’t seem displeased about them.

            “Not unless someone comms me.” It was only half a joke. There had been moments in the past when he’d been so overwhelmed by work he had asked her to shoot him. One such time she _did_ shoot at him, only to destroy his beeping comlink and save him the nightmare of responding. Not the sexiest of memories, granted, but he cherished the thought.

            He balanced the barrel on his fingertips, closed his eyes, and gave the cool muzzle a shy kiss, barely pressing his lips against it.

            The effect was uncanny. It had nothing to do with any anatomical part he had pressed his mouth against, yet it gave him the same urge to continue kissing it; even if he wouldn’t like it if it kissed him back. If anything, the realization only fuelled his desire.

            Harder and with more confidence, he kissed it again. His bottom lip had stopped bleeding, but the blood on his chin hadn’t completely crusted. There was a faint sticky sensation where it tried to keep his flesh glued to the metal. He dared run his tongue over the stabling grip. Plasteel was not an overly familiar taste, but he knew it regardless. There was a hint of iodization from all the firing that had left its chemical mark upon the insides.

            Phasma hummed in approval and the sound made Hux’s blood rush and whisper in his ears. He had her attention. Relief and arousal mixed and stirred within him; the latter had been there for a while and did not need much to overrule anything else. Putting up a show was easy, and for Phasma he was ready to swallow the weapon whole.

            He lavished the barrel and muzzle with licks and kisses like he would a finger offered to him, or a toy to prepare. The more metal he covered in saliva, the more he got into it. There was a wicked pleasure in making out with an inanimate object, a weapon of all things. She never locked or changed to stun, always prepared for emergencies. His life was in her hands entirely. It intimidated him, but his trust in her was greater.

            His uniform breeches may have been spacious, but his undergarments were tight and close to ripping if they were subjected to any more pressure from his erection.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been denied pleasure for so long. Was it visible? He hoped it was. Even if Phasma wasn’t touching him, the knowledge that she was present at his private degradation made him euphoric.

            “Phasma,” he moaned between two long loving licks up the macroscope. “Can I touch myself? Or you?”

            “Absolutely not,” she purred. The gun was thrust into his mouth and some of his teeth clattered against the metal. “How would I know you can maintain your usual discipline when it comes to sex? Better keep your hands where I can see them.”

            He furrowed his eyebrows at her but did not protest. “The solidity of my personality?”

            “Nice try. Sit.”

            He did. Phasma pulled the blaster away from his mouth and moved between his spread knees. Her next step landed on his crotch and she pressed as if determined to walk over him. He hissed but it changed nothing, and she rubbed the sole of her boot as if to feel through it how hard he was. For someone as drunk as she was, she retained battle-worthy balance. He envied her a little.

            “Very nice,” Phasma informed him as she withdrew her foot. Her hand shot down and he was hauled back on his feet by the collar. ‘Very nice’ didn’t even begin to describe the feeling. “Dust that print off, and go to sleep—“

            “That’s all?” he interrupted. Disappointment welled up in his chest like lukewarm water. He opened his mouth to protest further, but before a sound could come out Phasma clenched her fingers around his jaw, essentially immobilizing it. If he wanted to make a statement, his eyebrows were the only mobile part of his face.

            “That is all,” she informed him in a low voice that demonstrated how well she took to being disobeyed or interrupted. Or both. “I’m not going to hazard our working relationship just because we got drunk enough to try and fuck.”

            She let him go; he daren’t even rub his jaw lest he angered her further. Phasma let him simmer in his own frustration for a couple of moments, but took pity on him in the end.

            “What’s the rush? Let’s let the matter rest for a week, see how we both feel. Until then, enjoy walking back to your quarters with your ventral cannon loaded like that. Should prove an adventure.” He was given a soft kiss on the corner of his lips, and spun around to face the door.

            The conversation was apparently over.

            She walked him to the door but her hand hovered over the panel without tapping it.

            “Say.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he immediately knew: she was going to ask something that would elicit a lie from him. He braced himself, but there was only so much one could do when Phasma was the other one in the conversation.

            “You’ve been with others, haven’t you?” she asked. It was almost casual. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the panel.

            It was his turn to narrow his eyes. The question was too easy.  He had to be careful not to incriminate himself with suspicious body language. “Yes, of course. You caught me with that colonel back on the _Lyterian_ , if you recall.”

            “Still trying to erase from my memory the clawing and scratches on your ass from back then.” She rolled her eyes and sniffed. He couldn’t suppress a grin. “I meant men.”

            He could feel his grin melting off his face like an ice shard in the sun. “No.”

            Phasma’s brows furrowed at his tone and he hurried to elaborate before she had the chance to interrupt.

            “I can assure you I’m only into women. I think I know best when it comes to my own experience and preferences.”

            Phasma stared at him but he stared back, determined to endure her gaze. He had been truthful and he had nothing to hide. Was this about Mitaka? _Why would it be about Mitaka_ , he asked himself, _what in nine Corellian hells has Mitaka anything to do with this_? He concentrated on holding Phasma’s gaze again. There was a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name; if he didn’t know better he would think it was pity.

            “I’m not into men, Phasma,” he repeated, this time out of sheer stubbornness. Phasma shrugged at that.

            “Would’ve fooled me, the way you…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. Before Hux could ask her to finish that sentence, she punched the panel and the door hissed open.

            “Let’s talk about this in a week,” she proposed with most of her usual demeanour restored.

            “A whole week? That’s torture,” he complained. The corridor was still as an abandoned shuttle and he used the opportunity to lean in for one last kiss before being sent away.

            “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Phasma laughed, but indulged him with a playful nip on the earlobe.

            He would rather die than admit to it, so he paced out, straightened up his pose, and headed towards the upper section of the ship where his own quarters were.

            Much to his discomfort, she had been absolutely right. Walking back with a very prominent erection was both torture and delight. His posture, catering to the straightness of the back, pushed his hips forward and made his erection tent the front of his breeches. It could pass unnoticed by anyone reviewing security footage, but not a passer-by who happened to so much as glance at him. Not that they would say anything, not to his face at least, but he didn’t feel like throwing his good name into the rumour mill. His distaste for being seen as anything less than perfect and pristine clashed badly with the kick he got off the humiliation.

            It was a vicious circle at its finest. Phasma had set him up so well he felt additional arousal just thinking about the finer details of her otherwise simple plan. He couldn’t even imagine going to her in a week to say that yes, perhaps they should call the whole thing off.

            His thoughts went back to the remark about the way he'd... done something? She hadn’t finished the sentence, which was odd enough on its own. But he had been in his own hurry to change the topic. Now that he could think about it… What had he done at the gym that would’ve given her such ideas? He’d admitted to staring at her, yes, but—

            The falter in his thoughts nearly made him halt walking. The effects of alcohol were steadily withdrawing and his mind was clear enough to rewind the events of the day and review their conversation at the bar.

            Had he been tricked into admitting to something without realizing it?

            She had accused him of staring, and he had said he wasn’t to blame. Nothing in that short exchange mentioned the objects of his stare. She hadn’t brought up Mitaka, and he had thought, at the time, it had been about her.

            How could it not be, though? She would’ve mentioned it if the Lieutenant had somehow been relevant to anything they’d discussed.

            Was it something he’d done?

            He tried to picture himself from the side while servicing her blaster and had to admit that perhaps there was something phallic in the design. But lots of objects were, and if he liked to put his mouth to them it didn’t necessitate a sexual desire towards men, did it? Lots of officers with variety of preferences used phallic toys. It was a pleasurable shape. Insertable. In holes.

            In the turbolift he allowed himself a little slump, mainly to give his cock some relief from all the abuse it had endured. His quarters weren’t far now; no one could stop and demand explanations if he was seen to rush there.

            No sooner had the door locked behind him than he started undoing his uniform. He wasn’t even going to make it to the ‘fresher; propped himself on the desk in the antechamber that served as one of his offices and shoved his shaking hand down his pants. A most unwise move, as it turned out. The temporary relief skin contact brought was a mere pause for breath before the throbbing of blood turned into a fierce demand for satisfaction. He jacked himself off like he had a vengeance to exact, worrying his lip and giving his balls a firm squeeze whenever he could. Images shot through his mind, but he was too frustrated to lock onto anything in particular and develop it. Last Officer Academy conquest; Phasma’s flexing arms; Mitaka’s thighs—no, that was wrong, no, no, no, no; Phasma’s naked body, her smile, her kiss, Mitaka’s neck, her kiss—

            He allowed himself a load groan as he came. His cock pulsed and shot thick white stripes at his underwear and belly. The pleasure was so thorough, so overwhelming he wondered if he’d be able to recreate it when on his own again. It occurred to him that perhaps he had disobeyed Phasma’s orders, but she had specified nothing but a walk of shame, and the next pulsation of his cock wiped the thought completely.

            His hips thrust against his grip as if on their own volition, and he stroked himself despite the subtle threat of overstimulation. It felt so good, after months and months of guilt, to be able to masturbate thinking about Phasma, knowing he had her consent to do it. It wasn’t long before she would wreck him with her own two hands, and he couldn’t wait. The wound on his lip only enhanced the pleasure of it all.

            He gave himself a couple of lazy strokes to squeeze out the last drops of come. Completely unprovoked and out of nowhere, the vision of Mitaka doing that to him overtook his mind for a couple of intense, vivid seconds. When he realised he had lingered on the idea, he shook his head and tried to clear his mind. What was it about that bridge Lieutenant that made him sneak into their conversations and his thoughts? He was pleasant to look at, no denying that, and his file and work spoke for a competent and hardworking officer. Strong enough to spot for Phasma, but other than that...?

            Blood spread from his lip into his mouth and he lapped at it to taste more. It was going to leave a mark, he thought, when he managed to drag himself into the refresher and clean up, but as long as he avoided smiling it would be fine. There was enough bacta in every office refresher at his disposal, so he could apply some while catching up on filework.

            Being able to school his features was one of the better skills he had mastered, he decided while sliding under the cool sheets.

            Precisely a week and some hours later, Phasma and he were exiting one of the observation rooms after having watched a team make their way through the heavy fire and rubble of a densely populated Republic city. The two of them disagreed on what made the perfect soldier, but discussions on the topic always found their way into the conversation after they had overseen a training simulation. In the end, Hux never pushed it: Phasma was the one responsible for the troops, and if their arguments were pleasant and mentally stimulating, he would never encroach upon her duty and tell her how to train her men.

            “A moment of your time before we part?” he asked, perhaps with exaggerated politeness. He didn’t want to give any sign that the change of topic made his heart race and his fingers flex in anticipation, so a hint had found an outlet in the way he spoke, it seemed.

            “Walk with me to the briefing room?” she suggested. She slowed down her pace to allow for him to walk abreast while they talked. “Is this about our little conversation last week?”

            “Yes,” he admitted, a little taken aback.

Either his excitement had showed more than anticipated, or she had been counting the days and hours just as he had. Neither explanation felt completely satisfying, somehow, and the fact that he had a preference for the latter did not make it the correct one. Or perhaps she herself had grown impatient waiting for his answer. Had he waited too much? The way he saw it, following her orders was the better way to demonstrate his eagerness. However many times he had thought about, and analysed their final conversation of that evening, breaking the order he always ended up associating with lack of discipline: something which excited neither of them.

He took a measured breath and tried to appear completely calm when he opened his mouth to speak again. “And my answer is still _yes_. And in addition: _please_.”

            She turned her head to look at him. He couldn’t see her expression through the helmet, of course, but he hoped she was grinning.

            Even with the events that were yet to befall him, he would never forget that night for the rest of his life. They didn’t have sex; but even without it, the experience had been amazing, better than sex perhaps. She was generous with the exercise of her strength, and showed remarkable willingness to hurt him, to abuse his body just the way he needed.

            She insisted on taking care of him afterwards, until she was reassured there would be no visible traces of their little game.

            “I didn’t know you could be kind,” he teased her while she was rinsing semen out of his hair.

            “Not kind,” she huffed. A ridiculously persistent knot of hair and come was occupying most of her attention. “It’s maintenance. After-care, if you will, they’re the same in this context.”

            “Of course,” he mocked her with a grave tone, but didn’t press the issue. Her strong fingers were still dissipating tensions in his scalp he had gathered and nursed for decades. It occurred to him to be careful not to get too used to this. Both of them were often needed off-ship and with unlucky assignments, it could be months before they saw each other again. Upon closer examination of his feelings, he decided he envied only a little the potential others she chose to spend her time with.

            The feeling relieved him. He didn’t want petty jealousy to get between them, especially if they had agreed not to be too serious about their little affair. With another person, he would feel guilty and unsafe for fraternizing. Phasma had marched into the whole thing with her usual stride, and that made him feel safe at least. It made him wonder whether they would work their way to sex, or if she wanted to keep it as a prize for his obedience.

            In this state of relaxation, his thoughts ran like little shuttles to gather the responsibilities and tasks awaiting him. There was Kaplan’s progress report on the safety implementations; resupplying food for Millie; Phasma’s fingers tracing his spine felt so nice…

            “Phasma,” he spoke up before the thought would elude him. Her fingers didn’t stop, but she let out a low hum to signal she was listening. “What led you to the conviction I was into men?”

            She grunted. The next stroke of the scrub was a bit harsh, though hardly unpleasant for him.

            “You stared at Mitaka at the gym,” she supplied. _Ah._ She helped him out of the tub and handed him a towel for his body, while she dried his hair with a smaller one. Droplets of water flew everywhere from the vigour of her initial strokes.

            “You stare like that at things you want,” she continued after a moment. “That time you were being promoted, do you remember? I thought you would shove the armband in your mouth and eat it.” They shared a chuckle and he lifted his leg to dry it while Phasma was talking.

            “Sometimes you look at caf like that, even if it’s not with the same intensity,” Phasma continued. “I know you’ve been looking at me for at least two months, and for some time now at Mitaka. On the bridge your eyes only glance at him, but at the gym you stare like you can’t look away from him.” She combed his hair away from his face—he was in need of a haircut—and looked him in the eyes. “You’re really not into guys, or you just don’t want to admit it?”

            He dropped his gaze before he could stop himself. His cheeks were burning and thank the stars they were already flushed from the hot water, otherwise it would’ve been a genuine embarrassment. He was rather shocked that Phasma had known about his little secret, even if everything had turned out alright. But if she was right about herself, then she was right about Mitaka, too. The thought was disturbing, to say the least.

            “I do believe I’m not,” he muttered, mostly to his shoulder. It was a poor attempt as declarations went, but he didn’t want to discuss it with her before giving it thought in the privacy of his mind.

            “If you say so,” she conceded. Hux could feel mild annoyance in her jerky gestures when she began putting him back in order. “Is it the rank that bothers you? He’d transfer as your staffer at hyperspace speed, if he could.”

            “Nothing to do with that,” Hux blurted, but the damage was done. He could almost see Mitaka bustling around him like a mother hen just to ensure Hux’s happiness. That kind of attention was seductive, and he tried to crumple and toss the thought out of his mind before it made itself comfortable there.

            Phasma looked like she was about to protest, but then her expression relaxed and she didn’t.

            The topic was not brought up again.


	3. 3

            For a while, everything was, for the lack of a better word, alright. As alright as it could be, when one had to juggle a secret relationship, the responsibilities of his rank, and the irresponsibility of others. There was order to his “meetings” with Phasma; a structure that calmed him in many ways he had anticipated, and a couple that were a surprise.

            His thoughts about male-presenting officers, especially Mitaka, grew less and less disturbing with time. Whenever they snuck into his mind he allowed them to pass, rather than focus and try to scrub them like an ugly stain. Sometimes they were gone as soon as he noticed them, and other times they lingered, tempting him to dream about activities he had been raised to find foul. Most of his life since the Officer Academy had proven his upbringing rather dogmatic, but the further in the past, the harder he found to let go of its lessons.

            While they were yet to have what Hux considered sex proper, Phasma almost spoiled him rotten with her attentions. It gave her wicked pleasure to torture him, to make him beg, to leave his skin in the colours of nebulae. It gave _him_ wicked pleasure to be laughed at, and to beg for mercy while he offered his body to her cruelty, and meant it. He came one way or another, and in the end of the cycle, the sex proper aspect could be saved for another time. It nagged at him, some times more than others, that they weren’t doing it; but he also trusted Phasma to lead the relationship, and in the end that mattered more.

            His life was going as well as it could.

            It was a minor crisis when he came close to failing his physical examination. He had insisted on taking it along with the rest of the crew and stationed army personnel, aiming to demonstrate finesse rather than perfect scores. It hadn’t been a complete disaster, but there had been too many witnesses to his fatigue and poor endurance for his comfort. If Phasma hadn’t been free that evening to spend the night with him and mock him gently for it while massaging his shoulders, he would’ve seriously considered not showing his face on the bridge for a week.

            After that, he made a point to visit the gym for more vigorous training, and get himself up to his own standards again. When Phasma was present as well Mitaka almost always tagged along, and before a standard month had passed, he knew the lieutenant like he knew few other officers. And if Mitaka happened to be very attractive with his shy grins and space-black hair, _well_ , Hux thought, _good for him_.

            The lieutenant may also have been part droid, Hux suspected one day when he witnessed Phasma spotting for him instead of the usual way around.

            He was lucky humans had their jaws firmly attached and secured to their skulls, else his would’ve rolled off into a corner and stayed there for good.

            It looked like they had the gym to themselves that Cresh shift. Mitaka was dressed in a very loose grey vest which, Hux supposed, could pass as decency. He was pushing up a bar loaded enough to crush weaker representatives of their species. The tension in Mitaka’s body put every muscle on display. Veins erupted around his wrists and ran down his entire arms like cables of an unfinished droid. His pale skin was glistening with sweat under the bright lights. He had bared his teeth as if he were fighting to strangle the bar instead of merely lift it.

            “Are you giving up?” Phasma was saying, but her hands were in position.

            “Never,” Mitaka hissed through gritted teeth. With a final effort he straightened his arms and let out a groan of victory. The bar wavered left and right, but stayed up. Phasma gave him a slow nod of approval, and took the bar to leave it back on the catchers.  Her hands didn’t even bob when the full weight was transferred to her.

            “You’ll break him, and then you’ll have to be at his station until his arms heal,” Hux warned her while he approached. Mitaka raised his head and all but jumped clean off the machine. Phasma merely grinned, and assumed a poor imitation of parade rest.

            “Sir!” the lieutenant exclaimed. He began standing up, but Hux put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He opened his mouth to reassure the lieutenant there was no need to risk injury for a salute, but the words never got pass his lips.

            Mitaka’s warm, sweaty shoulder sent a lightning bolt through Hux’s entire body, followed by an immediate desire to touch _more_ , run his fingers up his neck or down to explore Mitaka’s biceps and pectoral muscles. Hux’s heart sped up. Throb after throb of pure want ran through his blood like alcohol intoxication. He had to imagine slapping himself to restrain his hand from pushing the Lieutenant back and—

            “At ease, Lieutenant,” he managed to say. His voice came out weak. He withdrew his hand before any more temptation was absorbed through his fingertips. “You can salute me on the bridge when you’re recovered from whatever the Captain was putting you through.”

            Mitaka flashed him a grin over his towel. His hair was a mess, _he_ was a mess and stars, he was adorable. Hux wanted to court martial him for being this adorable.

            “Doesn’t feel right, sir,” the lieutenant protested. He got up and suddenly his body was right in Hux’s intimate space, their chests almost touching. In an act of supreme self-control, Hux took a polite step back to make way for breathing and at least some sort of propriety.

            Mitaka hung the towel on his neck and saluted with a smile. Hux was touched at this observation of protocol even in such an informal situation, and allowed himself a small smile of his own.

            “Better?”

            The lieutenant laughed and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture Hux had learned to recognize as mild shyness. “Academy habits, sir. On the treadmill again?”

            “For a start.” Hux noticed the tiny step Mitaka took towards him, but hadn’t the heart to move away a second time. It was enjoyable to be around someone who found a good balance between protocol and friendliness. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was beginning to feel attraction to Mitaka the same way he had with Phasma. The lieutenant didn’t have her honed perfection, nor the intimidating height, but the layer of soft flesh covering his muscles, sinking to accommodate the imaginary pressure of Hux’s fingers, held its own glamour.

            Hux took a deeper breath and forced himself to look away from the lieutenant and towards the treadmill.

            “Well then,” he announced to no one in particular, mostly to indicate the conversation was over. Mitaka took a hurried step back and turned to Phasma, who had been silent until then.

            “You can go,” she told him. “I need to talk to the General.”

            “Of course.” Mitaka hurried to gather his gym bag. “I’ll shower and be on my way.” He gave a curt nod, and rushed towards the showers.

            Hux was already running when Phasma approached him. She leaned on the side rail and gave him a piercing gaze, accompanied by a wolfish grin.

            “Your gym shorts seem tight today,” she teased him.

            He almost fell for it, but continued running. There was no way he had gotten visibly hard, and if he had, the running was going to keep it at bay. Especially if he sped up.

            “Hard-ons are usually the result of seeing something sexually appealing,” he informed her in the loftiest tone he could muster in the middle of a run.

            “Oh? You did not find the lieutenant sexually appealing just now?” she countered with mock-surprise.

            He gave hear a steady look of exasperation without even slowing down. She returned the sentiment.

            “Don’t look at me like that. He would’ve dropped to his knees to suck your dick if you had blinked in his general direction one more time.”

            Hux groaned. If he wasn’t hard, Phasma was very well on her way to making him so. “Do you have a point you wish to make this cycle?” he replied instead. They could either change the topic or at least get to the point so as to get past it as soon as possible.

            “You’re mutually attracted to each other. You should let go of that only-women nonsense and fuck him. He’s your type, isn’t he?” Phasma’s expression became almost predatory. “Shorter than you, but he can break your fingers if he clenched his ass around them. Or around something else.”

            Heat that had nothing to do with running spread over Hux’s face and chest. He was glad he was in the middle of the exercise, else it would’ve killed him if it showed how hard Phasma’s words had hit him. Truly, Mitaka was sturdy and buff, so much as to allow him to train with Phasma. Not even her troops could keep up with her all the time, and yet their whole lives and excellence depended on it, to reach as close to the pedestal she was standing upon as they could.

            “I can’t have sex with him _here_ , can I?” he protested in a desperate attempt to change the topic, though his resolve was already crumbling. “There’s a security feed!”

            Phasma tilted her head. It was rare to see the gesture without her helmet on. “Oh? Don’t you enjoy the idea of it? The whole _Finalizer_ watching their General, their hero and favourite, bend over for a lieutenant in the gym, of all places. So crass, such _humiliation_.” The last words she murmured, and licked her lips.

            Hux shook his head, but his imagination was faster. The images were a mix of perturbing and exciting: their sweaty bodies moving together, Mitaka’s weight pressing him against any spot on the floor. Would a subordinate as low as he would dare do with General Hux as he pleased, hit him and use—

            He clutched the side rails and forced himself to take steady, rhythm-appropriate breaths.

            “Perhaps we can keep such exchanges within the context of private areas?” His voice was flat but in reality he was begging her. They were in public after all, and he didn’t want to risk any more footage of his inappropriate hard-ons.

            Phasma took the hint. She bowed her head and stretched her back like a loth-cat. The groan that escaped her throat was one of pleasure.

            “Let’s do that,” she agreed. Her tone shifted towards the usual mild disdain, even if it retained a certain meekness that snuck whenever she felt she had hurt him too much. “It’s your birthday soon. Unless you have other plans for the night cycle, I’d like to organize you a small surprise.”

            “What kind of surprise?” The bait was easy and he took it to demonstrate his good will. Phasma grinned.

            “The rough kind.” She was obviously referring to another session. He had been very good lately, doing everything she asked of him, breaking only a few instructions to get punished extra hard when he needed it. He wouldn’t mind if she chose to fuck him senseless.

It pleased him to see Phasma take the initiative and go so far out of her way for his birthday; a formality that, to him, mattered very little. The quick rise through the ranks was enough of a gift: he still fingered the rank armband with affection and pride.

            On the other hand, a physical reward would be nothing to scoff at. If she wanted to surprise him, so be it.

            “I’ll make sure to spare the time.” He smiled at her. “My quarters, the usual time?”

            “Be there,” Phasma warned him. She took the towel off her neck and turned around to leave. “Think about what I said.”

            It almost sounded like a threat. He knew by that tone she meant Mitaka, or, to be precise, fucking Mitaka. Letting Mitaka fuck him, if he had to be precise, because even with their height difference in favour of Hux there was no scenario in which he would be on the offense.

            He swallowed. It came out as a rather noisy gulp, because apparently he needed all the embarrassment he could get. If Phasma was right—and he could count on the moons of Starkiller Base how many times he’d witnessed the opposite—then the handsome lieutenant was very attracted to him.

            Was it mutual?

            Being honest with himself on that topic had proven hard despite willingness to challenge his beliefs. Men had captured his attention a limited number of times throughout the past, yet he hadn’t thought of it then as attraction, or at least not a sexual one. Beautiful individuals were pleasant to look at, and Hux had looked.

             With Mitaka, he hadn’t merely noted his affable face off-duty. He wanted to be close to him, touch his body the way he touched women he had taken to bed. Such comparisons complicated his situation: he might need to re-evaluate his statement about being only into women. Telling Phasma was going to be the worst of it.

            Perhaps he was predominantly into women, he reasoned while slowing down his running tempo. He knew he had a type, and Mitaka was “qualified” enough to register on his radar. He looked good and he was a competent officer who seemed to genuinely like Hux, rather than kissing ass to climb the ranks.

            Stars, what a sincere bother. Hux tried to shut the thoughts away and train. He had no ambition to become Mitaka or Phasma, but the humiliation of his physical exam still stung, and he wanted to stay in shape.

            He hadn’t had a formal celebration of his birthday in years. Due to his popularity, the date was a well-known one, and reactions to it were impossible to suppress. Prior to acquiring the _Finalizer_ , he had to endure small crowds of people forming around him to offer congratulations. People with ranks equal or close to his patted him on the back and shoulders, waved from across the room and saluted parsecs and parsecs away from him.

            On the _Finalizer_ , he had forbidden such actions, and while it was impossible to completely do away with it, the solemn nods, deeper-than-usual dips of the chin, and the couple of murmured congratulations in passing were almost pleasant to endure. Happy Birthday, sir; back to work. The personnel were certainly free to celebrate if they wished to, as long as it didn’t affect their work the next cycle.

            Now the idea of receiving a proper gift was appealing, almost saliva-inducing. He was a child of four again, thinking he was very smart in how he dropped hints about desired gifts. He didn’t like surprises; they were rarely, if ever, pleasant. As his life was his work, surprises came as a test of his competence and the ability to stay calm in the face of the unexpected.

            On the other hand, Phasma knew him too well to disappoint, or go for petty teasing. The mere fact that she wanted to plan something delighted him. It occurred to him that few people awaited their birthday with the fervent desire to be beaten and humiliated for sexual pleasure, especially not generals of the First Order, but what could he do?

            Perhaps the occasion was ripe for her to finally pin him down and fuck him: Hux had no illusions whatsoever that he would be the dominant one when it finally happened, and had no more than a sparkle of desire for it. Numerous times her hands had roamed over his skin: now he wanted to be the one to touch. He could almost feel under his fingertips the bumps and grooves of scars where damage had been too much and bacta too slow to be applied. The slow, steady breaths as she took him to bed.

            He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment and enjoy the fantasy of their bodies moving in unison. Suddenly, it felt like a lifetime between that morning and the evening of his birthday.

            With something to look forward to (aside from perhaps the title of Field Marshal, which Snoke was dangling in front of everyone of his rank to incite competition), he started being acutely aware of the passage of time. Tasks which had him otherwise engrossed for hours could now barely hold his attention. By the end of the first day he set himself a limit of looking at a chrono no more than two times a shift so he wouldn’t get distracted.

            That did help, but did little to stunt his impatience. He remembered how he felt before the ceremony of his last promotion, insides churning and feet tapping on the floor in a desperate attempt to do _something_.

            On the day he caught himself making odd gestures of benevolence. He accepted the congratulations with unusual levity, answered the nods with nods of his own and allowed himself to smile back at those daring enough to smile at him. The small exchange with Phasma on the bridge went very well; if she was smiling under her helmet while offering her congratulations, he couldn’t tell. Her voice was in perfect control as always.

            At the end of the day cycle, he shot out of his main office and flew towards his quarters. It was childish of him to act like that, he knew, but behind the locked doors and in the privacy of his bedroom it wouldn’t matter at all.

            He was toying with the buttons of a fresh shirt when the door panel announced a visitor. When he thought about that moment days later, he tried to convince himself he hadn’t sprang and skittered towards the door like an overeager pet.

            Phasma nodded to him while entering, but once the door was closed and locked, she discarded her helmet and pulled him into a rough kiss. The warmth of her lips spread like fire down his body, to the point of making his knees wobble and bend. She snuck an arm around his waist and pulled him flush against herself. The touch of cool metal against his bare chest and belly made him shiver, which prompted Phasma to hold him even tighter. Her hand slid down to squeeze his ass and made him press and rub his fast hardening cock against her leg plate. After a long day spent in the fortress of his uniform, it felt like heaven.

            Phasma broke the kiss and pulled her head back to look at him. Her eyes were glittering and she was grinning her wolfish grin reserved for times he had been really bad and deserving of severe punishment.

            “Happy Birthday,” she murmured, and gave him a playful bite on the lip.

            “Thank you,” he said. He heard himself purring, and it was a little embarrassing to have sunk so low, but Phasma’s laugh restored his priorities.

            She turned him around and patted his ass to make him move back towards the room. “You have lube, I trust?”

            “Yes?” he responded with a rising intonation to make it an answer and a question.

            “Good. Let’s get undressed, and you can show me how good you are at fingering yourself. I want at least two fingers smoothly in and out within the hour.”

            He turned his head to give her a questioning look. In his whole life, he had attempted anal pleasuring twice or thrice, every time with mixed results. He knew the theory behind it, but for some reason had trouble applying it to practice.

            “I’m sure you will impress me,” she whispered in his ear, perhaps sensing his hesitation, and the sound of her husky voice made him forget the majority of his worry. He did want to impress her. The thought of spreading his legs for her, making a show… It made him shiver. When Phasma had said she had planned a surprise, she hadn’t been joking.

            He put one hand on the back of a chair from his antechamber office and dragged it towards the bedroom to serve as her seat.

            “Should I … make an effort?” he asked while taking off his shirt. She shook her head while piling her armour next to the chair. It was like shedding a shiny shell to reveal the wonders of her body.

            “Try for expedience instead.”

            He rushed to get rid of what few clothes he had on while simultaneously trying not to miss a single detail of her own disrobing. Under the suit she had simple, tight-fitting underwear obviously designed for comfort, though on her it looked like she was a model. A fleeting smile passed his lips as he imagined the death someone would endure should they suggest Phasma use her femininity to such an advantage. She would beat them to a pulp with their own rank cylinders.

            His nervousness escalated when he picked the lube and turned around to face her. He felt like he was about to revise a speech, rather than indulge in sexual pleasure. Phasma, who had made herself comfortable in the chair, gave him a critical look.

            “Nervous?”

            Hux frowned at such blatant questioning of his willingness, even if it came from Phasma, even if she was right.

            “This is different from other times, isn’t it?” he asked in order to stall. It made an impression on him, how openly _sexual_ it all was from the onset. He had come not to expect something like that from her, though there was trust enough between them to do something without pre-negotiations.

            She nodded. “It’s part of the surprise.” Her expression became meek; she gave him an almost gentle smile. “Would you like some guidance?”

            Hux scoffed, at once eager to please her and resolved to demonstrate competence. “Lean back and enjoy the show.”

            Her rich and sonorous laugh echoed across the room: a laugh that made his chest ache a bit, to be witness to such a rare event. Scoffing there was plenty, as well as chuckling and hums, but so rarely did he hear her laugh in earnest.

            As he laid back and pulled a pillow under his head, he realized that at some point, perhaps even before they has started being together, his otherwise vague thoughts and feelings of appreciation towards her had turned into a very focused and clear desire to make her happy. Nothing that would meddle with their working relationship, of course, he would never do that. But his attention towards the needs of the troops, towards acquiring better weapons and vessels, were such praise-worthy examples that earned him positive feedback from her. Most of that came in the form of small nods from Phasma’s scowling helmet—and he knew he had done well. Such a combination of work and pleasure was an unexpected benefit he found himself enjoying on a regular basis.

            He made himself comfortable and began taking deeper breaths to relax. This was supposed to be fun for both of them. He squirted some lube on his fingers and slid them over his cock, down to the soft skin of his balls, and beneath them. The chill of the lube was rather unpleasant, but he enjoyed the slickness that enabled his fingers to run around. With his free hand he began touching random sensitive places of his body.

            “You can be so obliging,” Phasma purred from her seat. He thought about her touching him until he cried out and begged for mercy. His fingers hurried towards his rim to slick it. The muscle quivered when he focused on it but did not clench, and he rubbed it with his fingertips to coax it into relaxation.

            His digits were nothing extraordinary, but to an orifice that had rarely seen attention for the sake of pleasure, the thickness of his middle finger felt like an excellent start. He pushed the tip in—the texture almost distracted him—the lube made it so easy to just … feel deeper. Tensions in his legs made him try to relax and spread them further so Phasma could see all of him. The warmth of a blush covered his face and chest; Phasma found it an amusing colour on him, compared to his usual paleness. He hoped she was appreciating the view.

            With growing boldness he pushed further in and sank his finger to the first knuckle. For a moment, the sensory feedback overwhelmed him: on the one hand there was the pleasure of his fingers touching hot slick willing flesh, but on the other there was the just-right thickness slipping into him. His concentration couldn’t hold both and faltered. Perhaps he had done it all wrong the previous times, or perhaps there hadn’t been Phasma to factor in, but the arousal he felt at the moment was delicious.

            He dug his head into the pillow and a soft moan escaped his lips; he sounded surprised, even if the surprise was a good one. His hips lifted on their own to push against his finger and take more of it, a blind instinct his thought could only follow in pursuit. His cock, until then resting in the curve between his raised thigh and the abdomen, rolled towards the middle. Despite the pleasure, Hux noticed he wasn’t as hard as he’d thought; but on the other hand, with no real or imagined stimulation to his cock the results would only make sense to arrive more slowly.

            Perhaps that had been his mistake the previous times, he thought: attempting to stroke his cock and finger himself at the same time, somehow assuming he would be natural at multitasking with his hands. He let that line of thought drift as he shifted his concentration back to the finger inside him, and the feeling around it.

            “Good boy,” Phasma praised him. He could swear his jittery pride and satisfaction from her words sent his finger halfway in all on its own. She got up and eased herself down on the bed next to him, propped on one arm to look at all of him from above.

            “You think you can put in another?”

            He frowned at that. “Perhaps in a moment?”

            “How very diligent of you,” she praised him, and brushed a lone lock of hair behind his ear where it usually stood when gelled back into propriety and regulation.

            He worked himself open bit by bit, at times tempted to rush it. There was an elusive spot not too deep in that felt promising more than anything else, but he couldn’t quite home in on it, only brush every now and then when he curled his fingers just the right way. What at first felt like awkward rummaging grew into smooth and efficient exploration, accompanied by little gasps and moans he couldn’t keep in. His skin was glazing over with a thin sheet of sweat despite the usual room temperature.

            Phasma, never moving from her spot, watched him with gleaming eyes as he writhed and gasped. Her hands went on small rounds over his temples, his lips, the curve of his shoulder. They left burning trails that only made him want more attention, more touching, pain even. He nipped at her fingertips a couple of times to test and challenge her into action, but she did not fall for it, and merely moved her hand away from his mouth.

            The rhythm he had established was growing into something that could very much deliver him an orgasm, when the front door panel chimed again. His thoughts scattered like a flock of TIEs breaking formation; his ass clenched around his fingers so tight he couldn’t move them at all. To his surprise, Phasma glanced at the chrono on the wall and grinned.

            “Your gift is here,” she announced with something akin to glee. “Don’t move.” It was all the instruction he was given as she rushed to the antechamber.

            With childish defiance, Hux propped himself on one elbow, fingers still sheathed deep into his ass. He felt a little stupid, a little intimidated, waiting in that pose and straining his ears to catch a hint of noise.

            The bedroom door slid open and Phasma appeared again, pushing Lieutenant Mitaka in front of her. His eyes were covered with a shockingly pink ribbon, but he was smiling—if a bit nervously—and clutching his officer cap in front of his chest like a shield.


	4. 4

            The air drained from Hux’s lungs like there was a hull breach in his chest. He stared at Phasma in mute disbelief and anger, trying to say something despite the clench of his jaw. It was perhaps a good thing; if Mitaka had come on his own he knew whose bedroom he had stepped in, even if the details of it were hidden. A small desperate hope formed low in Hux’s throat that somehow they could get away with it if the lieutenant was quickly escorted out and away.

            “I asked him if he wanted to attend a small birthday party in your honour and he was more than happy to agree,” Phasma explained, unperturbed by Hux’s anger. Not that he could blame her: he wouldn’t be intimidated by a stark naked man with two fingers deep into his ass either. He tried to pull them out but all of his muscles were on lockdown.

            “There’s no security feed in your quarters, is there?” Phasma continued, taking advantage of his silence. “You can relax for a couple of hours.” She spoke slowly, as if explaining something simple to a stupid child. He’d heard her talk like that only a couple of times, but on those few occasions it had been crucial to the future plans of the Order.

            How could this surprise of hers carry the same weight?

            “You know he likes you. Verbal consent between you two is a formality at this point.”

            Shivers were running all over his body like the environmental controls had stopped working. The common sense and self-preservation he took such pride in began faltering when faced with a knotwork of mixed emotions he couldn’t entirely make sense of.

            He took a good look of the lieutenant. _Relax_ , echoed in his mind, _you know he likes you_ …

            Was he himself not willing as well? Within the confines of his chambers he could perhaps admit he had wanted Mitaka for some time now. The strong body, the things he could do to Hux. And yet years and years of covering his tracks and thinking of nothing but safeguarding his rank made him fearful and reluctant. He trusted Phasma because he knew she felt the same way. As close as he had become with the lieutenant, he didn’t know him as well. It made him nervous.

            Phasma seemed to sense his thoughts. She caressed Mitaka’s cheek with her knuckles. “If he so much as _peeps_ I’ll send him to reconditioning myself,” she purred. “And he knows it, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

            Mitaka shuddered and turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek against her hand. “I’m hoping it won’t get to that.” His voice shook a little.

            Phasma laughed. She began working on the fastenings of his uniform, starting with the collar button and moving down to take care of the little hooks that kept it tight over his chest. Pale flesh peeked underneath the grey fabric, more of it emerging as Phasma’s hand went down. He was not wearing an undershirt, Hux realized. His cock, softened by the unpleasant surprise, stirred at the intriguing observation.

            “At least look at him,” Phasma mock-pleaded while peeling the stiff material off the lieutenant’s shoulders. Half-stripped, restrained by the bunched uniform around his shoulders and with eyes closed by the ribbon, he did look a lot like a gift. Something clicked in place in Hux’s mind. Mitaka resembled those holograms of pleasure slaves that inevitably found their way to circulation among both troopers and officers.

            “I’m looking,” he rasped, desire at last overcoming his worry. “Send him over.”

            Phasma beamed. She set Mitaka on a course to the bed and walked over to her seat.

            If he had outed himself as present in the room, it didn’t mean he was going to go through with having sex with the lieutenant. Yes, he wanted him and oh _stars_ , the thought of being pinned under that body and used, the mere thought sent waves of arousal echoing all over his groin until they found their way to his cock and made it throb and harden.

            But his instincts of self-preservation screamed at him, louder than he could ever remember, that it wasn’t too late to fix it, to send Mitaka away and find a way to explain everything as an amusing misunderstanding, or even a joke. Even better, he could dress himself, take both Phasma and Mitaka to the bar on the level and toast them to whatever they wished to, for his birthday. Phasma would act as usual in public, even if later she would be furious with him. He could take that with the consolation of his preserved image over accepting her gift and risking the disaster it could lead to.

            Mitaka began taking halting steps across the room as Hux remained silent and Phasma did not offer any further directions. With every step, Hux’s desire and intimidation grew. For the first time in decades he did nothing as an impending disaster—a very handsome, very wanted disaster—approached him.

            When Mitaka’s leg brushed against the corner of the bed and he froze there, Hux knew he was going to take his chances with this one. Even on the battlefield, plans could go awry. Battles often took sharp turns for the better or worse. If a leader was unwilling to take a gamble in controlled situations, he would be all the more inept at doing so under pressure. Hux was going to gamble, and see where it took him.

            The decision eased his anxieties somewhat. The boost to his determination was greater, and that in itself was encouraging. He pulled his fingers out and wiped most of the lube off them. He wasn’t feeling as confident when completely naked, but he had to muster all of his authority and presence if he wanted to start well with the lieutenant. He took Mitaka’s hand and guided him onto the bed, where he sat him down and undid the ribbon.

            The pink band fell into Mitaka’s lap while he blinked to adjust his eyes to the light. _How can he be so cute and so hot at the same time_ , Hux wondered. It boggled the mind. Hux took hold of Mitaka’s gloved hand and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

            “So,” he began. “Captain Phasma tells me you’re … interested in me.”

            The pink adorning Mitaka’s cheekbones turned a deeper shade. “Yes, sir,” he admitted. It amused Hux how the lieutenant was trying his best not to leer, and failing miserably at it. He found he liked it, that and the obvious admiration in Mitaka’s glittering dark eyes.

            Hux took off the gloves himself, and let his hands trail up to where Mitaka’s pectorals were bulging underneath the half-open uniform. The lieutenant looked down to trace the movement with his own eyes.

            “Should I… undress completely, sir? For a full assessment?” he offered. He looked awfully shy all of a sudden, even more than what Hux had noted at the gym.

            Hux grinned. This was promising. “I like to unwrap my presents myself, Lieutenant. But the thought is appreciated.” He hurried to undo the rest of Mitaka’s uniform. There was a lot of appeal to him like that, stripped and with a hint of helplessness, but Hux wanted to see and touch more.

            “Whose idea was the ribbon?” he asked Phasma while discarding the belt.

            He looked back at Mitaka, whose blush had turned opalescent scarlet, and suited him very much. He smiled at Hux before his embarrassment took over and his gaze fell to Hux’s hands.

            The more Hux was unwrapping, the more he warmed up to Phasma’s idea of a surprise gift. He could smell regulation soap and shower water on Mitaka’s skin that tempted him into licking it. The lieutenant’s hair wasn’t actually greased back, merely wet and combed as to resemble that state. Resting, his body looked just as sturdy, though softer, and the flesh gave under Hux’s fingers almost the same way he had imagined it would. There was muscle underneath, no doubt, but at the moment it lay dormant.

            A sudden thought sprang to mind.

            “Lieutenant,” Hux murmured while peeling the uniform off Mitaka to leave his upper body naked,” how did you find yourself in the role of our dear Captain’s gym partner?”

            Phasma and Mitaka laughed at the same time.

            “The turbolift door jammed and I had to pry it open because … I may have been dangerously close to being late for my shift. I’m not saying I was, but the possibility was there.” Mitaka looked down, distracted by Hux’s hand squeezing his left pectoral. “She did finish the job, but I guess I demonstrated enough physical strength for her to ask me if I’d be interested in training with her every now and then.”

            Hux recalled a curious report Captain Harkov had passed on to him for amusement: Captain Phasma in a turbolift accident, though it was more appropriate to think of it as equipment in a Captain Phasma accident. So perfectly mundane.

            Mitaka rolled his shoulders to stretch them and the muscles on his chest and neck rippled in a way that made all of Hux’s blood reroute to his nether regions. The lieutenant must’ve been in a similar predicament because the front of his breeches was strained from his erection. The bulge looked so promising Hux didn’t even need to finish unwrapping to know he was awed and content with his gift.

            “I want him,” he told Phasma. He couldn’t even tear his eyes off Mitaka’s body for the basic respect of looking at her while talking. “I’m keeping him.”

            Phasma laughed again, and it was that warm, soft laughter, rich and unadulterated by disdain or irony, that made his chest ache.

            “I know how to pick gifts,” she informed him. “Have fun, the both of you.”

            “You’ll … stay and watch?”

            “Obviously.”

            Hux met Mitaka’s eyes and hesitated for a moment. With Phasma, it was easy: she took charge; she knew exactly how to proceed. Facing another person, all the more someone who was used to following orders and was expecting them now, made him stall and wonder. Mitaka was looking at him with expectation.

            Hux took his hand and put it just over his knee to demonstrate his inappropriate, but otherwise friendly intentions.

            “Tell me, Lieutenant, are you good at kissing?” he asked, trying for casual. In truth he sounded more like he was demanding a report.

            Mitaka’s fingers twitched and relaxed. He curled his index finger and began drawing miniature circles with it over Hux’s leg. His eyes darted up his thigh, perhaps even to his hard length, and with an effort jumped to meet his superior’s gaze again.

            “I’ve had positive feedback. Perhaps a demonstration would serve best?” he offered.

            With a smile, Hux led Mitaka’s hand up to his inner thigh. The hitched breath he elicited from his officer was delicious; in his chest suddenly flared the hope that Mitaka did not hold back on vocal feedback during sex. His own skin tingled and burned in the wake of Mitaka’s touch. If that was the reaction of his leg to the touch of another man, he felt faint with trying to imagine the possibilities that awaited his more sensitive spots.

            “Show me,” he murmured, and Mitaka was on him.

            Whether from nervousness, or because he’d finally been given a clear command he could follow, the otherwise shy lieutenant fell onto Hux like a predator. His hand shot up to wrap around Hux’s cock and give it a firm squeeze. Hux gasped but Mitaka was there to catch it with a kiss, and drank it like a dying man while pressing his mouth against Hux’s.

            He might as well not have wasted thought on trying to anticipate his reactions to Mitaka. The fast, swirling stroke made his hips jerk up to get more out of the grip in response to the stimulation. The latent arousal from fingering himself amplified the pleasure that surged through him, and tempted him to use Mitaka’s hand to bring himself to a fast orgasm and only then figure out the rest of the evening.

            It was uncanny to know another man was touching him so intimately. It had been a couple years short of a decade since he last had sex with another person: Phasma never bestowed her attentions on his groin, even during aftercare when he washed it himself. The observation grew into bitterness, and he hurried to push it away before it could become significant. He didn’t want to face disappointment after all the effort poured into accepting the gift. Mitaka’s hand, while so different from the others that had touched his cock, demonstrated remarkable skill. Hux wanted to watch the thick fingers stroke and play with him; wanted to enjoy not only the feeling but the sight of another’s hand pleasuring him, but the lieutenant’s mouth had a magnetic power to it that held Hux locked into the kiss.

            Mitaka couldn’t have been more different than Phasma. Small, cool lips which couldn’t even cover Hux’s, but the eagerness behind them was astounding. Hux could hear the hum of arousal down the officer’s throat and retaliated in an attempt to keep up. Phasma accepted kisses, and gave them sometimes, to remind him who was in charge. Mitaka was like a gravity well, determined to devour him whole. From as much as a mere kiss Hux could feel Mitaka’s desire—and it fuelled a desire of his own in response. He ran his fingers through Mitaka’s hair and pulled him in to seal the act with brute physical approval.

            They tumbled back onto the bed; he thought he heard Phasma laugh but was too preoccupied to pay attention. Mitaka had prioritized touching Hux’s neck and cock over keeping balance, and fell on top of him like a powered-down droid.

            Out of sheer instinct, Hux gasped for breath, some basic subconscious alarm going off as most of the oxygen left his lungs. Mitaka let go of him like he was burned, and propped himself on his hands.

            “Sir?” he called. There was panic rising in his voice. “Sir, I’m sorr—“

            “No need,” Hux tried to reassure him. His breathy voice wasn’t as calming as he needed it to be, and it showed. Mitaka was already pushing himself up and away so he had to reach out and wrap an arm around his waist to pull him down. He wanted to tell the lieutenant not to worry about roughness, but his mouth would not cooperate.

            For a moment, he was tempted to call the whole thing off. Phasma always knew what he wanted and needed, but with Mitaka every effort to establish communication for their mutual satisfaction cost him nerves and overthinking. He raised his head to ask Phasma for help, but she just grinned at him, thinking perhaps that he was at a loss of words at the fun she had provided.

            He huffed with annoyance at the situation. Perhaps applying some of his oh-so-famous brilliant strategic mind to the situation would benefit him. He wanted to come this week, if possible.

            His arm around Mitaka’s waist pulled down and the lieutenant bent like a loth cat. Only his lower back submitted to the pressure exerted on him. His palms remained planted on the bed, his arms straight as rods. His torso—his beautiful, chiselled torso that begged for Hux to rub every part of his anatomy against it—didn’t even flinch.

            “Lieutenant,” Hux said.  He tried to sound gentle and amused. Most of his usual tone had returned, but he kept it low to prevent spooking the timid officer. “I always appreciate initiative and a firm hand when on duty; the same applies in the bedroom.”

            He took hold of Mitaka’s wrist and pulled at it. Without symmetrical support, Mitaka’s weight collapsed on him one more time, but he was prepared for it. The gasp this time was of arousal and impact both, and he closed his eyes to fully appreciate the sensory input. While Mitaka was trying to settle for a position that didn’t knock together key bones, Hux manoeuvred the free hand onto his hip and pressed.

            “Why don’t you try for yourself?” He sought Mitaka’s eyes to give him a smile of encouragement.

            The lieutenant stared at him with wide eyes, but he was a fast learner.  His academy record did confirm it (not that Hux would admit to looking at it recently). He ran his hand up and down from the starting point, touching up to Hux’s ribs and down to his thigh.

            “Like this, sir?” he asked.

            “A good start,” Hux confirmed.

            Mitaka grew bolder.

            He adjusted his weight once more so that both of them were comfortable without crushing Hux’s organs, or any bones for that matter. His hands—Hux noted with satisfaction the relative thickness of the fingers—roamed over Hux’s skin with adoration, exploring like he had another set of eyes.

            Hux let himself be worshipped: Phasma had never touched him like this. _No one_ in his life had touched him like this, not even the few others he had slept with. A focus on his pleasure alone. Mitaka was on a mission to discover every pleasure spot of his and he didn’t mind letting him know he had found one, with a sucked-in breath or a murmur of encouragement. More and more harsh breaths escaped him as the lieutenant grew bolder in his explorations.

            “Like this?” Mitaka whispered against the side of his neck and sank his teeth into the skin. The pain was enough to send jolts and threats of the potential damage, but not enough to cause it.

            “Oh, yes,” Hux moaned. Mitaka’s cock throbbed against his thigh … still trapped within his uniform. “Stars, Lieutenant, _remove_ these,” Hux huffed and rubbed a leg against the flare of Mitaka’s breeches.

            The lieutenant rushed to obey. He raised his hips to gain space but left his head where it was to nip and kiss and suck at Hux’s skin while he tried to undo the fastenings without looking. It was clumsy by far, and poorly executed. Hux took it as flattery. With his head tilted to the side, he could see enough to manoeuvre his foot and pull at Mitaka’s pants with his toes. Those stretching and precision exercises at the gym came in handy.

            They had barely gotten the breeches and underwear past his ass (Hux held his breath at the sight of that opulent curve) when Mitaka let out a low rumble, and ground his cock against Hux’s lower abdomen.

            “And like that,” Hux agreed in a voice weaker than usual. He snuck a hand between their bellies and almost recoiled. Mitaka’s cock was thick, proportionally thick to the rest of his body ( _can you exercise your cock like that_ , Hux wondered). Without additional fingering, it would… His ass clenched when he tried to imagine the feeling. He had to take a deeper breath to relax it.

            The thought made him whimper.

            Out of curiosity, he pushed his own cock to align with Mitaka’s. The difference was almost jarring, and no positive words he could try and apply to his (elegant; good looking; slender? None of those inspired enthusiasm in his mind when it came to cocks, somehow) could make up for it. Mitaka had noticed, he knew, which made him wonder the precise reasons he hadn’t commented on it. Was it possible that it merely didn’t bother him, that and the common sense not to point out one’s dick was bigger than the commander of the vessel’s?

            The one thing somehow led to another: he wrapped a hand around their girths, still unable to process how good it all felt. It was too much to let him close his fingers, but the grip was enough to keep them together. Mitaka buried a groan of pleasure when Hux gave them an experimental stroke. He was hoping to goad the lieutenant into something harsher, but Mitaka shied away from anything rougher than light bites and squeezes. Direct simulation appeared to work better than mere words (from a commanding officer, no less), but Hux was dubious of how well could they do this without communication.

            He turned his head to trace Mitaka’s earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “Lieutenant,” he purred in the lowest tone he was capable of, “do you naturally shy away from rough play, or is there something on your mind?”

            Mitaka made a weird noise that could’ve been one of amusement as much as embarrassment. “Apologies, sir,” he muttered. “It’s a bit hard to disregard basic training and … endanger a commanding officer’s well-being.”

            Hux could sympathize with that logic, if he weren’t in need of being endangered. He wrapped his legs around Mitaka’s waist and rocked him gently. “Would it help if I made it an order? Prioritize your own needs for the time being, and do not hesitate to resort to rougher treatment.”

            Mitaka, who until then had been peppering Hux’s neck and ear with nips and kisses froze. Hux had the uncanny feeling that somehow the lieutenant was hiding his face from him. Taking his time, Mitaka pushed himself up on one elbow to look at Hux. His face held an almost childlike innocence in its dismay.

            “Sir, are … are you sure?” he asked.

            “Wouldn’t have said it if I weren’t,” Hux reassured him. He licked his lips in confirmation.

            Silence fell while Mitaka sucked on his bottom lip and looked at Hux in dismay and hesitation. Hux could see the temptation working its way through his conscious and subconscious, as well as all the reasoning that obstructed its path. He waited, content to let it all work itself out.

            “I could do it,” Mitaka offered in the end, but did not move to prove it.

            “I’d love it if you did.” Hux ran his nails down Mitaka’s back to emphasize how much he would love it. “Will it ease your mind if we set a safe word? I will ask you to ‘cease’, using that precise phrasing.”

            Relief softened Mitaka’s features, and he nodded in agreement, almost eager. He brought up his knees to bracket Hux’s hips and shifted his weight onto them to allow himself freer movement.

            “Turn him to the side,” Phasma ordered. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, but as charged as a blaster. “I want to see you wreck him.”

            Hux nodded when Mitaka looked at him for confirmation. The lieutenant had to climb off him, but the force with which he grabbed Hux’s wrists, locked them in his grip, and slid him perpendicular to the bed with one smooth movement, had Hux goggle at him. He had asked for this treatment, and he knew Mitaka was strong, but this strength applied to him… A shiver ran through his muscles.

            He turned his head to see Phasma’s expression, but a strong hand clasped his jaw and pulled his head back to face Mitaka.

            “Sir, I’ll ask you to either look at me, or,” he lifted his hips enough for the tip of his cock to slide over Hux’s thigh, “down here while I fuck you.”

            It wasn’t the durasteel tone of someone used to giving orders, but the words left Hux almost gaping. So this little lieutenant could give orders, after all?

            “Yes,” he stuttered, too taken aback to try and control his voice. No one had ever talked to him like that in bed, ever. He loved it.

            Mitaka nodded, and lowered his head. Hux did not expect the kiss and their teeth clattered, but the lieutenant would not be deterred. His tongue licked and pushed against Hux’s lips, trying to get past them. Hux was only glad to let him; and Mitaka wasted no time shooting deep, as deep as Hux’s throat, as if desperate to map out the insides of his mouth. His free hand lay on Hux’s neck, just below the jaw: a mild threat. Hux’s thoughts broke down; he would have to give up thinking if he wanted to experience to the fullest the organised assault Mitaka was laying on him.

            He rolled his hips in an attempt to goad him, but Mitaka ignored him. Despite everything, he was holding his torso up and far away enough from Hux to reduce their skin contact. Neither writhing nor noises of protest could change it though, and every attempt to bridge the gap only earned him a tighter hold on his wrists. It was challenging to try and win against this battle droid of a man, armed with Hux’s own order; it made his heart drum and his blood speed up.

            With a gasp, Mitaka broke the kiss and pulled back to look at him. His eyes were glittering, and he looked confident and more relaxed. Had the intimidation of high command finally left?

            “Touch me,” Hux pleaded. He couldn’t do much but arch his back and stick up his chest to offer it to the lieutenant as one example of where to start. Being so immobilized prevented all of his limbs from touching Mitaka, and that was growing to be unacceptable.

            “Patience,” the lieutenant murmured. He did let go of Hux’s wrists though, and positioned Hux’s hands on his shoulders (his round, perfect shoulders) while he tucked his own hands under Hux’s knees to lift his legs and wrap them around his waist one more time. Hux wasted no time in caressing Mitaka’s neck and as much as he could reach of his upper back to pull him in, closer, as close as he could. His mind was reeling with vague possibilities of what Mitaka could do to him.

            It dawned on him that perhaps the deliberate slowness and teasing was how Mitaka put up a show for Phasma while following Hux’s own orders. _Clever boy_ , he wanted to say, but then Mitaka eased himself on top of him, rocked their bodies together, and wiped any coherent thought from his mind.

            When, amidst all the harsh breathing and moaning, thought returned to him, it was the realisation that foreplay like this hadn’t been part of any of his other few affairs. Circumstances or partners or both, there had never been as much arousal or intimacy in the mere act of preparation. He felt enjoyment, even euphoria, on a whole new level. When Mitaka peppered his skin with kisses and bites, or ran his hands all over his legs, it was like being set on fire. They had barely started and he already wanted to reorganise his entire schedule and make time for more of it.

            “You’ll spoil him,” Phasma teased, but there was little bite in her voice.

            Without hurry, Mitaka lifted his head from Hux’s collarbone and looked him in the eyes. “You think, ma’am?”

            “Look at him. He gets needier by the kiss.” Hux saw some movement in his peripheral vision, but as he wasn’t allowed to look away from Mitaka it remained unclear whether Phasma’s wave of hand had been one of demonstration or dismissal. Mitaka smiled in response, but said nothing. Instead, he raised his own hand and tucked away a strand of hair behind Hux’s ear.

            “If he behaves poorly, you’ll just need to remind him what discipline’s like,” he said in a slow voice that emphasize every word. His features seemed incapable of looking wolfish, or even threatening, and so the remark came off a little like a joke to Hux, a gentle reminder at best. The lieutenant seemed benevolent, perhaps naughty at worst, and Hux could live with benevolent and naughty. The thought of Mitaka disciplining him—over his knee, solid hand leaving red-hot marks over his ass and thighs—made him let out a shaky exhale. Maybe it was in his best interests to disobey a little.

            With unexpected gentleness, Mitaka lowered his head to kiss the corner of his mouth.  He let go of Hux’s legs and dragged his lips and hands down his torso. The tip of his tongue tapped against the bumps of Hux’s ribs with near affection. Hux was tempted to glance at Phasma but, as if sensing his thoughts, Mitaka chose that moment to look up, and Hux resisted the temptation. He could be obedient and good, if he wanted to. It was arousing, to be under the will of a junior officer. Phasma had chosen well.

            He dared put his hands on Mitaka’s head and they were not pushed away. He buried his fingers in the space-black locks of hair, now dry and wavy, while Mitaka was kissing his stomach. His hair was soft and thick and perfect for ruffling and pulling. Hux thought about holding onto it in the throes of heat and passion, and then Mitaka pressed his small wet lips against the tip of his cock, and all thinking ability once again dissolved into a hum of pleasure that vibrated through his entire body.

            His cock, already hard enough, bounced off his belly and tapped Mitaka in the face. The lieutenant laughed and pressed it down. The promise of that solid hand around his length again made Hux buck his hips and demand more action.

            “Be still, sir,” Mitaka cooed. He spread Hux’s knees to settle between them, and inhaled sharply.

            Hux shot up on his elbows to see what was the matter. His heart drummed against his ribcage and a stream of ugly thoughts ran through his mind.

            “You’re … ready,” Mitaka said in a small voice. He was breathing just as hard. From his viewpoint Hux could see Mitaka’s cock—stars, that _girth_ — straining so hard the head was touching his abdominal muscles despite otherwise minor factors like gravity.

            “Yes,” he confirmed. “Is there a problem?”

            “No! No, I…” The last of Mitaka’s façade of confidence crumbled. He gave Hux an almost sad look. “Sir, Captain Phasma will chastise me for telling you, but your … your ass is pink and slick and…” He swallowed, and his next exhale was a whimper. “Sir, that’s really hot. You’re really hot, I mean.”

            “Oh,” Hux murmured. His cheeks grew warm, their colour probably in competition with the supposed shade of his ass. “It’s done now, but perhaps another time you can…” He didn’t finish the sentence, namely because he didn’t know if there was a word for continuous oral attention to that area, and phrased like that it would sound too pretentious even from his mouth.

            “You can sit on my face any time you want, sir, and I’ll eat you like double breakfast rations,” Mitaka agreed with fervour ( _Vocabulary—expanded_ , Hux thought). His hands gripped Hux’s thighs a little tighter. “Oh, this is lubricant?”

            “What else?”

            Mitaka hummed. “If you’d like rougher treatment, I would recommend bacta for … next time?” His voice faltered by the end of the sentence.

            “What would call for the use of bacta, Lieutenant?”

            This time Mitaka allowed himself a chuckle. “It’s to prevent from something going wrong, sir. Bacta is runnier than lube. Many prefer it for that.”

            The frequent restocking of small-sized cuts and vials of bacta were definitely not to ease and erase officers’ shaving accidents, Hux realized with a start. What he had thought of unusual and frequent clumsiness had been instances of pleasure and relief all the time. “Bacta next time,” he confirmed. Mitaka tried not to beam at him, and failed.

            Phasma let out a cough with a very clear meaning and Mitaka hurried to bend down and give Hux’s cock another kiss to placate her.

            “Will you blow him?” she asked.

            “And finger him some more, just in case,” Mitaka specified. “I want to know his limits for myself.”

            He spread Hux’s legs as far as possible and pressed the tip of a finger against Hux’s rim. Pink and slick and hot, he had said. Hux’s head reeled with the praise.

            “He writhes a lot,” Phasma informed him. It was as if they were at the gym discussing a routine.

            “Oh! I’d love to see that.” The lieutenant smiled at Hux, and his benevolent expression was half-amused, half-encouraging to start a demonstration as soon as possible.

            Mitaka’s finger sank in with relative ease and Hux heaved a sigh. It felt even better when someone else was doing that. He pushed himself up trying to watch without bending too much as to move his pelvis. Mitaka’s attention was wholly concentrated on his hole. He could feel the finger sinking in, the thickness of it spreading him from inside. A twinge of pain tapped his forehead and he realised he had furrowed his brows in concentration. He clenched a fist around the sheets and tried to relax all of his other muscles.

            Mitaka smiled without looking up at him. “Everything okay, sir?”

            “Yes,” Hux sighed. “Continue.”

            The lieutenant sank the rest of the way in, curling his index and ring finger to allow for the middle to go deeper. The pleasant feeling of being spread returned even more strongly this time. To have someone else do this to him, rather than imagine his hand was someone else’s, made everything better, hotter. His cock throbbed every time Mitaka’s knuckles pushed against his buttocks. He could feel Mitaka stroking that little elusive spot in him with great accuracy. The pleasure made him moan and before long he was trying to roll his hips and meet Mitaka’s finger to get more of the impact.

            The stretch of a second finger added did little to dampen his enthusiasm. The thrusts became more confident, sending jolts of ecstasy all over Hux’s body; charges like electricity ran through his skin.

            When Mitaka’s fingers acquired a pace and he began making little scissoring movements to stretch the tight muscle around them, Hux groaned and threw his head back.

            “Lieutenant, I appreciate your effort but I don’t think I’ll be better prepared than I already am.”

            Mitaka stopped, but didn’t pull his fingers out. He glanced to the side, probably to see what Phasma had to say about it.

            “Do him,” she allowed. “He’ll have to bear the consequences if it hasn’t been enough.”

            Mitaka gave Hux a bright smile and drew away from him. There was a squelch as Hux’s rim let go of his fingers.

            The Lieutenant wiped his hand on the side of his breeches with the casual gesture of a person who had done it on a number of occasions. He fought, not as casually, with taking off the rest of his uniform and boots, and all but kicked them away once he was done. His cock rolled over his thigh, soft enough to point at the floor but still impressive.

            “Sir,” he said. His cheeks began gaining in colour again. “Have you … tried this before?” he asked, and waved towards his groin in a spectacularly vague gesture.

            It took Hux a second to realize Mitaka was asking about oral. “No, I haven’t.”

            “Would you … like to give it a try?”

            Hux laughed at the lieutenant’s politeness. He could say no, and Mitaka, too disciplined for his own good, would have to go on. He gave the lieutenant’s length a closer look. Somehow, the memory of licking Phasma’s gun came to mind. If the cool, sturdy barrel had been such fun, then what about warm and responsive flesh? His mouth watered.

            “It’ll be my pleasure,” he purred in a poor imitation of Mitaka’s own polite tone.

            He had to go on all fours and lower his head to take the tip between his lips. The foreskin was warm and so soft for a moment he had the insatiable desire to sink his teeth in it. He wasn’t enamoured with the taste, but the peculiarity of it tempted his tongue to dart out and sampe it again and again. It made Mitaka’s hips tremble and buckle, which amused him; but he took pity in the end and relaxed his jaws to allow the firm cock to slide between his lips and into his mouth. He could feel the head running over his tongue as it slid in.

            The lieutenant’s hands rested on the nape of his neck, one just below his hairline, the other rubbing his vertebra.

            “Like that… Relax your jaw, sir. And open a bit more, I don’t want to gag you. Close your eyes if it helps.”

            Hux had never heard someone sound so concerned for his safety while at the same time giving instructions on oral pleasuring with the astounded tone of a person witnessing a miracle. He wondered for how long Mitaka would retain that innocence, that disbelief in the fact that a member of High Command was not only sleeping with him, but taking his cock in every orifice and thanking him for it. It was amusing, to say the least, but also pleasant, in stark contrast to Mitaka's powerful physique. Charming, almost.

            The thorough guidance certainly came in handy—he didn’t want to gag himself. His lieutenant’s voice was smooth, and the subtle hints of authority that snuck in were rare enough to help Hux focus on what was in his mouth.

            “Here.” Mitaka’s fingers pulled at his hair to draw him away. “I’ll get on the bed so it’s easier, sir.”

            He kneeled and guided Hux’s mouth onto his cock once more. Bobbing down was easier than back and forth movements; Hux took to it with eagerness. He liked the throbs and the subtle taste of precome at the back of his tongue. The warm, stretching skin was incomparable to the surface of the barrel, and excited him at least tenfold.

            “Oh, that’s nice, sir,” Mitaka murmured. His voice was breathy and, to Hux’s satisfaction, poorly controlled. “Go on, please. You’re doing great.”

            “You’re praising him too much,” Phasma noted. Hux wanted to look at her, to see how she was enjoying the show. Around Mitaka her voice sounded more guarded than when it was just the two of them.

            “Truth be told, he’s very good, ma’am. I won’t be surprised if he’s able to—” A shudder passed through Mitaka’s body. His fingers clutched at Hux’s nape and immobilized him in place. He must’ve found a spot or action Mitaka especially liked, and he tried to recreate the last few movements of his jaw and tongue. The fingers holding him relaxed somewhat, but every flick of Hux’s tongue provoked more shudders and bucking of the hips. He looked up, but Mitaka refused to meet his gaze, turning instead to Phasma.

            “He’ll be able to … deepthroat in a couple of attempts, should he— _sir_ —want to, of course.”

            Hux closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of smugness and satisfaction. The thought tempted him.

            “I don’t think he’ll mind even now. You’re an overachiever, aren’t you, Armitage?” Phasma teased him. Hux would’ve responded that _yes_ , he was, but Mitaka’s hand in his hair pulled him in, as if to test Phasma’s statement.

            Mitaka let out a weak laugh. “I’m rather close, ma’am,” he admitted. “I want him so much, I—” He didn’t finish his thought, but instead pulled Hux away from his cock just as more precome began to spread at the back of Hux’s tongue. Silvery threads of saliva stretched between his mouth and the tip, breaking and splattering over Hux’s chin like cut support cabling.

            Still holding his hair, Mitaka finally met his gaze when he said: “The image of him like this will give me morning wood for months ahead.”

            Hux looked at nothing in particular while Mitaka helped him lie on his back. The lieutenant’s words had been crude, yet somehow they pleased Hux in a way he hadn’t known he could feel satisfaction. To be talked of like that, of the details that made his body desirable, almost as if he were irresistible? The satisfaction hit him low in the belly, twisted and turned his arousal into something more than a physical sensation. He had hoped Mitaka would be interested in him, but was nonetheless glad to hear it said out loud.

            He began pushing himself on his elbows again to see what was causing the delay, but the lieutenant loomed over him and pushed him down.

            “You’ll watch later,” he murmured. His warm breath caressed Hux’s skin like a hand that pulled him up. He brushed his earlobe against Mitaka’s lips, and was rewarded with a gentle kiss on the temple.

            Reassured, he lay back and let Mitaka adjust his position. The lieutenant nestled between Hux’s legs and lifted his hips enough to position Hux’s thighs over his own. Mild anxiety coursed through Hux’s body despite his physical readiness. He knew Mitaka would never hurt him, and yet the anticipation had a negative tinge to it, an intimidation that was hardly comfortable. He began steadying his breath to calm down.

            Mitaka began licking his fingers and spreading the saliva over his cock. When he got it so wet it was dripping on the sheets, he took it in his hand and pressed the tip against Hux’s rim. The push that followed was slow: very careful, but insistent.

            The pressure had no relation to the previous mild misalignment of two fingers. Hux could feel the _stretch_ of his muscle. It was hard to concentrate on relaxing when all his body urged him to do was squeeze. He eased his head back.

            Time seemed to stretch and warp as the lieutenant’s cock pushed deeper in. Hux wondered how deep his ass could be when there was a sudden relief, and the pressure was replaced with an odd sense of fullness. Hux closed his eyes and released the breath he had been holding for who knows how long. Despite his preferences, in this instance he was glad Mitaka had handled him with the utmost care, rather than follow the initial instructions.

            Somewhere between his legs, Mitaka groaned. He shifted his weight and a moment later his lips were peppering Hux’s chest with light kisses.

            “Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured against Hux’s breastbone. His hands, one still damp from the saliva, were running soothing circles over Hux’s thighs.

            _Ready for what_ , Hux wanted to ask, but then he tried to shift his hips and found himself almost unable to move. It wasn’t painful, but there was a threat of unpleasantness if he tried something adventurous. He put his hand on Mitaka’s arm to get his attention, and was distracted by the tense and solid muscle underneath his fingers. He couldn’t believe the soft and slightly curving lines of Lieutenant Mitaka hid a body made of stone and durasteel, but here he was, experiencing it first-hand. Perhaps his ease of mind lay elsewhere.

            “I suggest you take over, Lieutenant, as…” he hesitated for a moment, “as the man with relevant experience.”

            Mitaka, still bent over him, dragged his flattened tongue over a nipple. Pleasure ran like sting shots from there to his crotch and made him arch his back. It was torture to try and thrust up his chest without moving any other part of his body.

            “Yes, sir.”

            With all the gentleness and precision in the world, Mitaka took hold of Hux’s legs and wrapped the shins around his waist. Every movement made his cock shift and move inside Hux, if only slightly; and it made it throb. Hux was amazed at the clarity of the sensation. He wondered how it felt on the other side of that … connection. Was it tight, was it borderline painful, or perhaps just right?

            Mitaka propped his hands on the sides of Hux’s head and loomed over him. Hux forgot to breathe when their gazes met. He always took advantage of his height to stand above everyone else, to look down on his officers to remind them of their place when necessary. In uniform, it didn’t matter how thin he was.

            Lying beneath Mitaka’s bulk made him feel small and insignificant, completely at the man’s mercy. The hand that had been holding onto the lieutenant’s bicep slid down to trace a vein from the inside of the elbow all the way down to the wrist. He moved to another then, following it up to Mitaka’s shoulder, and from there went to caress the side of his neck and the nape. Mitaka waited with patience, but there was also a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

            “You can break me without even trying, can’t you, Lieutenant?” Hux murmured.

            If nothing else had perturbed Mitaka so far, _that_ thought apparently managed. “Let’s not break anything tonight?” he suggested. Hux nodded—he was not eager to get broken in sensitive places like his ass—and braced himself.

            He had expected pulling and thrusting and the like. Instead, Mitaka shifted his weight ever so slightly forward, and pressed his groin against Hux’s ass. His cock moved deeper, but only so much; and then he eased back. It was as if he were still adjusting their positions. One push rolled into another, and then another; within half a dozen he began establishing a rhythm of pushing and easing back, with slow and delicate movements Hux hesitated to call fucking. Even with sufficient lubrication, the Lieutenant’s cock hardly moved.

            The initial pressure began to ease. The fullness, at first so shocking, became wanted and pleasurable. Before he knew it, Hux was trying to roll his hips and meet Mitaka’s pushing, eager to feel more of him. The hand he had left on the lieutenant’s neck fell to his chest, his perfect sculpted chest, pectorals bulging between his equally big biceps. Hux traced Mitaka’s breastbone; if he could tighten his grip… His ankles locked and he pulled Mitaka as close as possible. The lieutenant laughed at that prompt and lowered his head to nuzzle his face behind Hux’s ear.

            “Good, sir?” he asked.

            “Yes,” Hux drawled. He turned his head to catch Mitaka’s lips in a hungry, demanding kiss. He wanted all of him now, every bit of skin and attention. Mitaka’s tongue teased his bottom lip but withdrew too fast; Hux had bitten him a couple of times already, and unfortunately for him, the lieutenant was, indeed, a fast learner. They shared a breath of amusement between themselves and Mitaka dove to kiss him again, harder this time, pressing his lips against Hux’s as if he needed his superior officer’s mouth to breathe. His lips were so small, so delicate that whatever he did Hux felt like he was doing the majority of the kissing. Phasma had informed him on a number of occasions of his—what had she said?—“plump and rosy lips”. Perhaps that had something to do with it.

            It made him giddy to think of her when Mitaka’s rhythm was growing faster and more confident with every thrust: his cock was now moving in and out of Hux with relative ease. The knowledge that she was there in the periphery, bearing witness to how another man was fucking him like a toy, added to the surges of pleasure running from the base to the tip of his cock.

            His thoughts snapped back to himself when Mitaka buried his fingers in his hair and moaned in the kiss. Hux needed something harsher than that. Why wouldn’t the lieutenant just pull his hair?

            “Lieutenant,” he heaved between two attempts at biting the other’s bottom lip, “you’ll have to touch me more than this.”

            “Preferences, sir?”

            “Everywhere is a good start.”

            Mitaka laughed, and Hux couldn’t help a grin of his own. He determined he liked Mitaka’s laugh, the surprise in it, and how he did it all of a sudden, like it took him a moment of silence to remember he was allowed to.

            The grip in Hux’s hair tightened and his head was pulled back to expose his neck, which the lieutenant kissed with diligence and appetite. His hips never stopped, and he rolled them with what to Hux felt like expertise. He could only help so much with his own legs.

            “If I remember correctly,” Mitaka said, while moving his hands to Hux’s own biceps to pin them down on the bed and immobilize most of his upper body, “you asked me to show little mercy when we started. Is this still the case?” He shifted his weight and Hux was pinned in place while Mitaka’s cock slid in and out of him fast, with accompanying obscene noises.

            “ _Now_ you choose to follow orders?” Hux rolled his eyes but the lip bite betrayed the pretence of his ire.

            Mitaka shook his head with a grin. He must’ve changed the angle again because the following thrusts struck Hux right in that elusive spot. His orgasm took straight for the finishing line.

            “Oh, oh like that,” he pleaded. His voice was breathy but he knew the lieutenant had heard him because the thrusting only grew in speed, becoming almost erratic. Through the noise their bodies made together and the blur of laced eyelashes, Hux could hear the little whimpers and moans that slipped from Mitaka’s small mouth, see his thin lips glisten and disappear under a row of teeth.

            “Are you two getting close?” Phasma asked. The eagerness and excitement of her voice carried over the noise they made. Hux almost looked to the side to see her expression, so intense was his desire to make eye contact with her.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Mitaka moaned. His bottom lip was swelling from all the bites it had endured.

            There was a noise of furniture scraping the floor, and in Hux’s peripheral vision, Phasma approached.

            “Don’t look at me,” she warned him. “You have your orders.”

            She sat on the edge of the bed and took his head in her lap. Her touch nearly tipped him over; the strength of her fingers, the callouses on the tips. With his head raised he could see his own cock jutting out at gravity-defying angle. The head was glistening with precome while a thick string of it stretched between the slit and a small pool on his stomach.

            And Mitaka hadn’t touched him since the beginning.

            Phasma ran her fingers through his hair as if to comb it. Some locks she pulled, some twirled, but her fingertips were never too far away from his scalp. He wanted to look at her, but was so mesmerized by Mitaka’s body, by the glistening sweat that beaded and dripped from his now flushed and saturated skin. His head was bowed and Hux couldn’t see beyond the wrinkles of knitted brows, but he could hear the gasps and moans. In his haze of visceral need, he suspected he wasn’t doing much better. There was a thin thread of saliva of unknown origin cooling on his chin.

            The coiling at the base of his spine was tightening with every thrust, but it wasn’t quite there, even if Mitaka’s angle was spot-on.

            “Mitaka,” Hux whimpered. “Lieutenant, stroke my cock or…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. He was in no position to threaten or command—or even beg.

            “Only when you’re done yourself, Mitaka,” Phasma warned.

            Hux keened. That was cruelty beyond any physical mishandling he could imagine or request. He had never in his life been denied something he had needed so much.

            “Sir…” Mitaka began, and faltered on his next exhale. He screwed his eyes shut. His thrusts became slower; harsh slams of hips against Hux’s ass. Even relaxed, Hux could feel the lieutenant’s cock harden more, and in a couple of seconds it began throbbing. A drawn-out, almost desperate moan ripped from Mitaka’s mouth while he tensed and emptied himself deep into Hux.

            His hands slipped off Hux’s arms. One of them flew immediately to grab his cock. The strokes that came were sloppy, far from the precision Hux enjoyed from his own technique, but the grip was strong and the added twists at the base were an amazing trick.

            “Yes,” he whimpered in gratitude. He tried to toss his head back into Phasma’s lap but her hand was there to stop him. It pulled at his hair so hard his chest thrust up and he arched his entire torso. The combination of Phasma’s pulling and the input from Mitaka’s hand and cock made him keen again. In less than a dozen strokes he was coming. Thick white stripes shot all over his neck, chest, and stomach. The pleasure that came with them was almost too much, as if it were too large to pass through his cock, instead building at the base and pushing out in big throbs whenever possible.

            Mitaka’s hips hadn’t even slowed down when the pleasure took a sharp turn to oversensitivity. “Enough,” he managed to croak. “Enough, cease, Mitaka…”

            The lieutenant froze. He looked up from him, and Phasma must’ve nodded because his hand didn’t move again, and neither did his hips. A lazy, careful stroke squeezed the last drops of come out of Hux’s cock while Hux himself lay slumped, eyes closed and gasping for breath. For a minute, he couldn’t even open his eyes. At some point Phasma’s hand eased its grip on his hair, but did not let go.

            They stayed like that for a while. No one moved much besides Hux and Mitaka’s heaving chests and Phasma’s fingers, still toying with Hux’s hair. While his lungs were working hard to restore the balance of his systems, his eyes flickered between his painted chest—the contrast between the opaque pale strings and the flushed, opalescent skin beneath them—and Mitaka’s own body, ruddy from effort while rivulets of sweat ran down his skin. His cock no longer throbbed, but he was still hard, and very much buried in Hux’s ass.

            No one felt the need to say anything until both men had calmed down.


	5. 5

            “Lieutenant,” Phasma said at some point. Her voice was unusually soft. “Use the refresher first, and after you’re done I’ll see to our General’s … comfort.”

            Mitaka nodded. He disentangled himself from Hux’s legs—snuck a quick peck on one ankle which Hux, in his weakened state, found unbearably cute—and began pulling out.

            It had little to do with the reverse process, though Hux was surprised at how fast his rim almost snapped shut when the head eased out. Something warm trickled out of his ass and Hux clenched the muscle out of habit, which didn’t help at all.

            When Mitaka disappeared into the ‘fresher Hux raised his hand and sought Phasma’s. She let him lace their fingers together, and rest them in her lap above his head. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, but he hurried to look away. He had the feeling that something very important had transpired between all three of them, between him and Phasma as much as between him and the lieutenant. Out of habit he left his thoughts and questions for the refresher. Phasma had called it aftercare; after some time, he had begun thinking of it as a safe time to speak his mind on topics and issues they otherwise avoided.

            Mitaka found them like that, but did not react beyond a passing gaze. He seemed as fresh and happy as when Phasma had brought him, only now completely relaxed. He made his way to the edge of the bed where most of his uniform was.

            “I’ll dress and leave as quickly as possible,” he promised while patting at his skin with the towel.

            “Stay.” Hux’s voice was croaky and rough, like he had eaten shrapnel. He met Mitaka’s round eyes and dipped his chin to confirm the order. “Stay, Lieutenant. I think we need to discuss some details of this … agreement. You can rest in the bed until we’re done.”

            It may have been his imagination, but Mitaka trembled with some of his initial nervousness. Hux dismissed the thought; he couldn’t imagine nerves after such an instance of sex.

            To his disgust, his ass oozed some more as soon as he got up and headed towards the refresher. He had thought of dribbling come and stained thighs as a rather pleasant image, an elegant hint of indecency, but the feeling was plain … gross. He called for his hospitality droid to deal with the mess of the bed.

            Phasma wasn’t in any particular hurry to talk. By the time she handed him the sponge to wash his groin he couldn’t take it anymore.

            “Are you … leaving me to him?” he asked without bothering to hide the growing bile in his tone. It came out more dramatic than intended, but he had no patience to play around with language for once.

            Her eyebrows shot up. “Rather dramatic?” she suggested, not one bit perturbed by the accusation. She wrestled the sponge out of his hands when he didn’t do anything with it and stepped closer to clean him herself. “Armitage, I’ll be honest with you.”

            “That’d be best,” he put in, if only to release some inner steam. She swatted at his mouth with the sponge. The gesture was mollifying, but only so much. His words had been a weak taunt, anyway.

            “When we started this it was enjoyable and interesting, but it has become apparent our expectations do not overlap.” Her strokes, leaving white and pure foam in their wake, were slow and gentle.

            “You want things I cannot give you. It’s a bad idea to compromise so much in a relationship just to keep it going. I won’t sleep with you—I won’t compromise, and I don’t want you to compromise _either_ and go on telling yourself it’s fine and you don’t mind.”

            She rinsed his stomach and the trimmed public hair, careful not to punch him in the groin. He watched her do it. They had showered together so many times now, and she had coddled him, never squeamish about his cock but never interested in touching it, either.

            He knew, in his heart of hearts, that she was saying out loud truths he had been, for a long time now, in denial about. He had noticed, and through the months attributed to a variety of excuses: no mood, menstruation, tiredness, part of the play, his poor ability to entertain her. Facing the facts like that hurt; he wanted for nothing more but to zap away into hyperspace and die of shame there. Some part of him appreciated her concern, but the majority was all in favour of that hyperspace death.

            “So?” he asked in a quiet voice while she was turning him around to wash his back. Was it just ill timing, or she didn’t want to look him in the eyes when getting to the point?

            _Nonsense, Armitage_ , he scolded himself. And yet.

            “You’ve been eyeing Mitaka for a while and I told you, he’s not been indifferent to you either, even before we met at the gym that first time. I thought he could be a neat solution to the sex problem.”

            “So you’ve asked my lieutenant to be a parting gift of a sex toy?”

            The drag of sponge down his spine almost took off his skin. “Such childish, petty remarks are unbefitting of both your age and rank,” Phasma informed him. Her voice was colder than the ice on Starkiller. Shame tried to burgeon its way into his mind, but the need to provoke her was too strong, and did away with it.

            “I asked him if he was interested in having sex with you, provided you consented and allowed my presence every now and then as a viewing party only, if you must know the details.”

            Silence fell between them with the shower stream. When his back was clean, Phasma turned him around again and rubbed at his elbows where the skin had gotten rough from all the leaning on desks.

            “How did you know he would say yes? You took such a risk with all that … information,” he said when the silence began to grate at him.

            Some of Phasma’s iciness melted, and she allowed herself a smile. “You haven’t seen him drool after you in the gym. I could’ve offered him your unwashed gym shorts for half his yearly credits and he would’ve said yes before I’ve finished the sentence.”

            “Disgusting!” Hux scrunched up his face at the repulsive image. The prospect of half a year’s pay in exchange for sweat-drenched linen was too absurd not to force a laugh out of him. He chuckled, and a moment later Phasma did the same.

            “How did you know I would agree?” he asked. The response was a raised eyebrow and an evil grin.

            “Have you caught yourself staring at him lately?” Phasma pointed out. “When you look at him your knees melt faster than if I’d shot them. I knew you weren’t indifferent— circumstances were the only thing stopping you.”

            “I’m glad sweaty gym clothes were not involved in this comparison,” Hux remarked in the driest tone he could muster. It was Phasma’s turn to chuckle first.

            He looked at her. She was absolutely gorgeous like that, as wet as him and completely unperturbed by it. The bumps of her scars made the water coursing down her skin spray and glitter. And he had to accept that she would never have sex with him, one way or another. It made his chest ache with _want_ ; and he chastised himself for getting his hopes up like a fool.

            “This will … take time,” he muttered after another lengthy silence. If only feelings were like sand stirred in water: violent at first, then settling in the absence of a stream. But he had to see her every day almost, and that was his stream and stirring.

            She nodded with a sobered expression. “I’m aware. I think it’s best we don’t see each other in private for a while.”

            “So Mitaka is a parting gift after all?” Hux insisted, though there was no vitriol this time. He hoped.

            Phasma rolled his eyes. “Were you even listening? I like you in every other way but the sex way. You’re competent, you’re good company when off-duty, you’re easily one of the most handsome men I’ve seen. Beautiful to look at, even more so when you’re like an animal in heat, but … I don’t want to fuck you. You can be attracted to something without wanting to fuck it.”

            “How so?”

            There was a pause. “Think of the _Finalizer_. You nearly broke down in a fit of giggles when the Supreme Leader gave her to you. I still see you run your fingers over random walls and consoles as if it’s your first time boarding her. Do you want to stick your dick into the reactor?”

            “Maybe I do.” The rhetoric of the question was too good to pass the opportunity and answer in the affirmative.

            Phasma punched him in the shoulder. “Be serious. I like you, if you need to hear it so much, and I want to continue this off-duty thing we have, whatever it is, if you can get over your libido and be content with it as it is. Varied entertainment: sometimes all three of us, sometimes you and him, and sometimes me stepping on your throat while you jerk off at the violence alone. But I’m not doing it if you think I just need time to come around and fuck you.”

            Hux thought about it. “Sounds fair. But … still a lot to take.”

            Phasma patted his cheek and turned off the shower. When she began drying his hair, her movements and gestures were soothing again. Hux thought about that particular feeling, that calm, and tried to preserve it, to make it the only one he associated with Phasma; a feeling of security and appreciation, but not arousal. It was not going to work on the first try and that was annoying, but at least there was no deadline.

            “Even battle tactics change on the field,” she told him while they were putting on their underwear. She put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him in to kiss his temple. “It’s important that you’re honest with yourself.”

            He leaned his head against her lips. “I’ll try. Will you stay?”

            She pulled away. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant. “Armitage…”

            “For my birthday.” He dealt a low blow with that one, and had to convince himself it was with good intentions. “We’ll sleep, nothing else.”

            She gave him a long, hard stare. He began thinking he might not have passed the test because she sighed, but her shoulders relaxed and she rolled her eyes. “Alright. Just tonight.”

            In the bedroom, Mitaka had curled himself around one of the pillows and fallen asleep. His black hair was a complete mess: it looked like a loth cat in humid weather. He was drooling a little.

            Hux had to put his hand over his mouth not to let out a sound. He could not imagine this sleeping innocence to be the polished and disciplined officer who had not only graduated the Academy with top grades, but continued to work as hard on the bridge of Hux’s ship. He was fleshier than Phasma when relaxed, and cuter for it. Hux had the childish desire to poke his cheek.

            Phasma elbowed him in the ribs. “Knees,” she mouthed.

            They slid under the covers and she pulled his back flush against her body. Her arm went around his waist in a pleasantly possessive gesture. Hux thought they might’ve woken the lieutenant, because he shuffled closer and put an arm over Hux’s hips, but his breathing remained slow and unperturbed.

            Drifting into sleep, Hux realized he was nestled between the two people in his surroundings he trusted the most to touch him. Even if he didn’t know Mitaka that well yet, the lieutenant had always been a good officer. He was trustworthy, reliable, and a safe harbour for secrets. As Hux had discovered, he had the potential to kill people with his bare hands, and tendencies to … cuddle.

            Hux was going to die of heat squashed between two people big and warm enough to put to shame the reactor core, but that was a problem for a later time. He tangled his legs in Phasma’s, put a hand on Mitaka’s chest, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

            ***

            The beeping of a comlink roused him from sleep. Out of habit he swung a hand to take it, or at least tried to. His arms were immobilised. His entire body was, in fact, and he couldn’t understand why. Then, the events of the previous evening poured back into his mind.

            _Ah._

            Phasma was already out of the bed. “It’s mine,“ she whispered while crossing the room to get it.

            Behind Hux, Mitaka stirred. At some point he had taken over Hux’s ass and had pulled it right into his crotch. His semi-hard cock pressed neatly between Hux’s buttocks. One arm was wrapped around Hux’s waist in a grip possessive enough to rival Phasma on an ordinary day.

            Phasma swore.

“I have to go,” she hissed after ending the call. The lone red dot of her comlink disappeared, but Hux could feel Phasma’s irritation even without seeing her expression.

            “What’s going on?” he asked. He tried to get up but by the time he had gotten the covers off his chest he was missing the warm embrace already. The rude awakening and the exhaustion of having the most intense sex in his life made his limbs drowsy and uncooperative.

            “Troop matters. I can handle it.” There was clanking. “I’ll dress in the office. See you later.”

            A flash of light illuminated her figure as she went out of the bedroom and commanded the lights of the antechamber at forty percent, and then she was gone.

            Mitaka stirred again. Hux could feel his fingers patting around.

            “Sir?”

            Hux eased himself back into the bed. “Lieutenant. Did we wake you?”

            It was a rather stupid question given the circumstances, but the realisation dawned a moment too late, and the words were already out.

            “I was already awake,” Mitaka reassured him. His voice was soft and quiet, as if he were worried about waking someone else while talking. There was a soothing quality to it; Hux wondered if he could ask Mitaka to talk him into sleeping, literally. “I… Perhaps I should leave as well, so you can rest.”

            Hux turned around to face him, even if they couldn’t see each other in the darkness. “No, Lieutenant, I did ask you to stay earlier. There’s a conversation we still need to have, if memory serves me right.”

            He felt with his hand over Mitaka’s torso until he found his chest. The skin was warm and damp, matching Hux’s back where their combined body heat had made them perspire against each other. Stars, what was with him and those pectorals, he thought while Mitaka also turned to face him. Phasma would know when it was appropriate for someone of his rank to bury his face into a junior officer’s chest, but he would rather die than ask.

            “My apologies, sir,” Mitaka murmured. Hux could bet he was blushing again. “You should’ve woken me up.”

            The pitch-black darkness, thick as Mitaka’s hair, made for a cosy environment, Hux decided. He couldn’t see Mitaka’s expression, or how his complexion changed, but as the lieutenant spoke Hux’s ears grew attuned to the changes in his voice. He scooted closer to lay both his hands on Mitaka’s chest and the lieutenant not only took it in stride, but also wrapped an arm around Hux’s waist again to pull him closer.

            “We are both awake now,” Hux pointed out. Mitaka’s hand drawing small circles on his lower back was rather distracting. He had to put a bridle on his desires until the matter was clear for both of them. He had to avoid misaligned expectations with the lieutenant at all cost; the ‘fresher conversation with Phasma had been enough for a lifetime. The memory stung.

            “Captain Phasma gave me the gist of how she approached you. You did not find her offer … scandalous?” It was the best he could think of to encompass any and all combinations of weird, unprofessional, obscene and dangerous without actually mentioning the words.

            “Truth be told I thought she was joking, sir. Too good to be true,” Mitaka muttered. A strong exhale blew warmth on Hux’s neck. The lieutenant must’ve dipped his chin to hide his face out of habit. “I … I know she noticed my interest towards you in the gym was not wholly … professional.”

            _She noticed both of us_ , Hux agreed inwardly. “Nothing escapes her,” he said out loud. “And you are comfortable engaging me every so often? I don’t need to remind you that what we’re doing is a serious violation of regulation.”

            Mitaka’s fingers twitched. “Yes, sir, of course—I mean, I’m aware.” He paused for a moment. Hux could hear him trying to regulate his breathing for some reason. “I’m glad to be with you … like this. You’re so otherworldly I just can’t quite believe it’s all true.”

            Hux was glad the lights were at zero percent, because he felt the colour of his hair draining into his face. Mitaka did not shy away from paying him compliments and if they weren’t careful, as Phasma had said, Mitaka was going to spoil him. He knew he was presentable, an exemplary officer, but “beautiful” and “otherworldly” had never been terms applied to him. They had nothing to do with how he took to his responsibilities or handled delicate situations. The feeling was so new he couldn’t think of words to describe it even to himself.

            “I take it you’re attracted to men and women?” he asked to change the topic and get the focus away from himself.

            “Well.” Mitaka hesitated. “I hardly pay attention to presentation, sir. The Officer Academy was where I had to mingle with a lot more of my peers than I was used to, and everyone seemed so attractive?” His hand was doing those concentric circles on the low of Hux’s back again. Hux wondered if it was his way of keeping his limbs occupied while talking.

            “The girls at first, since I had never seen so many, but not only them.” He let out a low hum. “My mother told me the gender of your spouse did not figure in the marriage form on Lianna, and she didn’t raise me to care myself. I was shocked at the academy, where some of my peers only sought the company of the opposite gender, and frowned upon other practices.”

            Mitaka pronounced ‘opposite’ with a snort. His distaste for the mere notion of a gender binary was evident. Hux, on his part, could relate to those peers Mitaka had mentioned: his father had raised him to value the partner who could give him children. From what he had seen, he knew the Supreme Leader shared that view, even if he did not enforce it. If Brendol Hux had accepted his son’s indifference to marriage, it was only because he had been so ambitious as to sacrifice his marital duty to serve the Order.

            He screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think of his father in private moments like this, sharing a bed with a junior officer who also happened to be a man. He willed the thought away, and caressed Mitaka’s arm to remind himself of more pleasant realities.

            “I suppose the Empire did not last long enough to grow uniform values among its denizens,” he mused.

            “Well said, sir,” Mitaka agreed. “In line of this, I hope I’m not overstepping my boundaries when I ask you to tell me what you like and what feels good?” The circles on Hux’s back grew unsteady and uneven. Was Mitaka growing nervous again, or was he ready for another round? “I will be glad to know I’ve brought you the utmost pleasure.”

            Hux’s mind was either still not primed for thought after that amazing sex, or Mitaka really had a way with words in bed.  His blush was returning with alarming speed.

            “You’re perfectly reasonable,” he reassured Mitaka. “I can trust you to give me similar feedback?”

            Mitaka let out a weak laugh. “I’m overwhelmed by the mere thought of you touching me. It’ll take time to think of anything else.”

            Hux slid his fingers from Mitaka’s breastbone to his shoulder over the collarbone, and then back until his fingertips reached Mitaka’s hairline. “Perhaps we can find out?” he suggested. His voice was breathy.

            Mitaka’s hand found his hip and drew him closer to press their abdomens together. The lieutenant was hard again, but Hux wasn’t far behind.

            “Perhaps,” Mitaka whispered, and rolled on top of him. By sheer miracle their mouths found each other in the dark and he kissed Hux, deep and passionate and so eager to obey, driving every other thought from Hux’s mind but one: Mitaka, Mitaka, _Mitaka_.

            His body thrummed with desire, a weapon ready to discharge at the lightest touch, while his lieutenant ground against him. He let himself be overwhelmed by it.


	6. Interlude I

            For the second time, Hux thought things were alright.

            After their conversation in the shower, he and Phasma quitted seeing each other for anything but work. He changed his gym hours and she changed a patrol that led her by the bridge in the small break between the Aurek and Besh shifts. The drinking evenings, as Phasma had once called them, ceased. Hux understood the importance of the desired results, but it did not help one bit at first.

            The first weeks were the hardest. It felt like a limb had been severed from his body. He kept trying to lean on it, and kept stumbling.

            They saw each other often despite the measures taken, yet it was somehow dry and painful. He did not ask for her opinion more than usual, out of fear he might appear clingy. She gave it as freely as ever, and did not appear to spare her words just to get him off her back. Her tone carried the usual hint of dismissal; the drawl at the end of her sentences harsher when she disapproved of decisions handed to her.

            She took the helmet off less often in his presence. In some ways, that helped the most with accepting the change. Captain Phasma in uniform; never Phasma making faces or kissing his temple while he stole glances at her hips.

            He tried to be his usual self, only it was hard to remember what that was like around Phasma. He knew it would take time, but time passed and he didn’t think he felt the difference.

            The intimacy with Mitaka was of great help, he couldn’t deny it. It served as a distraction, as well as a reward when he was done with work. Now that Starkiller Base was back on track he intended to keep it that way.

            During working hours, the lieutenant didn’t show a hint of having seen Hux outside the bridge. He was his usual disciplined self, calm and hard working. He did not seek Hux’s attention with petty pretence and excuses, nor did he drop by his office unless he was summoned or sent there. He spoke when spoken to; kept to his post during the rest of the time. Hux couldn’t believe he was so relieved not to talk to someone he otherwise liked, but there they were.

            Off-duty, it was not the wild, violence-filled affair he had imagined, but to a great extent Hux did not mind. Mitaka was gentle, thorough, always careful not to cause Hux any pain the latter was uncomfortable with. Time after time Hux found himself gasping for breath and scarcely believing his luck while Mitaka peppered his shoulders and back with smug little kisses. It roused a feeling of utter, bone-deep contentment, something he didn’t think he was capable of.

            It had never been like that with Phasma.

            One night cycle, seemingly no different from the others, Mitaka had wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him, just to plant him on his cock like a toy. Hux had hidden his face in the crook between Mitaka’s neck and shoulder and all but shouted his name until he came; the distinct thought that it would never, ever be like that with Phasma all the while lodged in his brain like a transparisteel shard.  It had been uncanny, as far as his knowledge of purging went.

            And it had been the right thing to do, also. Having a sensual and sexual relationship only with Mitaka was alright; touching and being touched by the lieutenant until both of them reached physical satisfaction was alright, he told himself.

            Showering was hardly the aftercare he had gotten used to, but perhaps it didn’t have to be. He wasn’t sure, but wanted to believe that Phasma would shower with him one day when he got over his sexual desires for her. Just in case, he tucked all the shower memories away, deep enough in his mind so he wouldn’t lose them.

            It was dangerous, he knew, to throw himself from one relationship into an additional one; a big part of him felt unease over fraternising with not one, but _two_ people. How was contribution measured in a relationship like theirs, where all three of them were, in a sense, together? There was no precision and measuring about these things, no clear boundaries: it bothered him. It was a mess he was unwilling to let go of, and that bothered him too, but he had only himself to blame on that one, he could see as much.

            Much of those thoughts were scrapped and forgotten when Starkiller Base entered its second crucial phase and needed him present for long stretches of time, away from his ship and away from Mitaka.


	7. 6

            He stood at an intersection where he knew Phasma ended one of her patrols, waiting. In fact, he had been waiting for five minutes too long, it occurred to him as he glanced at the time in the corner of his datapad. There was a report he needed to discuss with her, and it had taken rereading the file twice before he realized she was late. It was no short document, either.

            She had started disappearing on him some time ago, or so he thought. Not picking up her comlink unless he specified it was urgent, and that irked him. It wasn’t like her to shirk responsibility. The troopers reported nothing out of ordinary, so she had somehow rescheduled her time to be unavailable at the precise moments Hux needed her: either patrolling some of the areas with poor reception, or at the gym where it was too noisy to even hear a comlink beeping.

            Trying to appear calm, he headed towards the gym available to both officers and technicians from the control centre. She spent more time there than any other, mostly due to the variety of equipment.

            Not as much time as on the _Finalizer_ , granted. Starkiller was enormous and her patrols stretched to occupy all of her time not dedicated to active training with the troopers. Given that her schedule cycle-wise was approximately the same and sunset was approaching, he could rely on finding her there before she went on her last patrol for the day.

            He himself rarely went to that gym despite the need to keep fit. It was never as empty as the _Finalizer_ ’s. Being on a planet with natural cycles helped some of the personnel take advantage of resting hours and get better sleep; so the sun, setting or rising, saw the same place semi-crowded with people stretching after a long shift of no physical activity, or doing some light exercise to wake up. The noise of the machines and the combined chatter of so many people clashed with his routine on the _Finalizer_ and its stillness. When had he ever seen more than four officers in the _Finalizer_ gym?

            He wasn’t as pedantic as to require training in absolute silence, all the more from people who weren’t even on shift. Perhaps that was the problem, he thought while the turbolift took him to the ground level. But reports showed his people were more productive with some lax discipline just before and after work, so he was willing to put it down as off-duty team building and move on.

            The place was as full as he had expected it to be. People in different gym clothes and stages of sweating stopped to salute him or saluted him on the go. He nodded in return while looking around for Phasma.

            There, on one of the wrestling mats, Phasma was talking to a technician whom Hux recognized as Zina. Otherwise of perfectly average height, next to Phasma she looked like the shortest person on the base. Or in the Order.

            Hux’s stomach lurched; the heat of his body disappeared as if he had stepped outside, and his thoughts exploded like the rocks that flew everywhere back when preliminary digs were done on the planet. It took him four steps to realize something was wrong.

            There was something about the way Phasma and Zina stood next to each other that twisted his insides and made him light-headed. The cold made him shiver and yearn for his gaberwool coat despite the excellent heating in the facility. Zina’s pose was one of relaxation and calm, but Phasma…

            Phasma’s was the same, he thought, which was … wrong. Phasma would never act so relaxed in front of so many people. So many lower-ranks. She was exposed in a room full of people with only her gym clothes and the binding linen over her palms and fingers. The two were standing too close: Phasma was not only stooping somewhat to catch every word, but her expression was on the verge of a smile, a genuine smile she rarely bestowed even on Hux.

            Bile rose and pushed at his throat and he had to swallow before it threatened to escape. Anger boiled in his chest like a fizzling short-circuit that made his hands tremble and tense. There was a third, old and familiar sensation that grew a while before he could recognize it.

            It was betrayal.

            He had felt it as an adolescent, when his father had admitted they were never going back for his mothers; when DD-38 had been sent for scrap because her hardware had become too old to function. When the Supreme Leader had neglected his requests for a meeting in favour of training his apprentice.

            Only, it was so intense that for a moment he was ready to burst into tears. He had to unclench one fist before he broke the datapad with it. So; Phasma was going behind his back entertaining a technician girl. That was fine, that was perfect and nice, _especially_ after the grand talk of trust and whatnot she had given him on his birthday.

            When he was close enough to the mat, she saw him before Zina did. He thought she stiffened when their eyes met: her face froze, her body tensed, and she began backing away and into her usual pose of quiet confidence and superiority. Too late.

            “Captain Phasma. Technician Zina.” He gave them a pleasant smile while they turned towards him. He glanced at Zina: small and lithe, fit, the lines of her body pleasing to the eye. Her eyes shone when he said her name.

            “At your service, sir.” She saluted. “Shall I leave you?”

            “No need,” he hurried to say. “I need the Captain’s attention for a few minutes, afterwards please continue your … training.”

            Zina took two steps away regardless, and freed the space for Hux if he wished to approach Phasma. Phasma did not move, other than to flick her eyes towards the datapad in his hand.

            “That important?” she asked while taking it from him. She was probably referring to the fact that he had overcome his distaste for crowds to seek her out. Their fingers touched on the back of the device and he almost jerked his arm away as if it had burned him.

            “I was passing by,” he lied. It was killing him to keep up a face of pleasantness and casual attitude while she didn’t have the basic decency to look ashamed or guilty. He had never been so disrespected in his life. It hurt him all the more to endure the humiliation in the middle of a crowded _gym_.

            Phasma was frowning at the report while reading it. Was she even reading, or was her mind preoccupied with Zina? Hux had to restrain himself from dropping hints just to see her face go ashen. He waited in parade rest while focusing on relaxing his muscles and appearing casual. There was no need to attract attention.

            “Most of these were sampled from HT-422,” she said, and handed him back the device. He was very careful not to touch her this time, and made a mental note to have his gloves cleaned. “Escalate simulation difficulty in ice-surroundings by twenty-seven percent or so, and they should tighten up,” she added.

He didn’t bother holding her gaze while she was talking and opted to make a note on the datapad instead.

            “I can take ca—“

            “I’ll manage,” he interrupted her with a pleasant smile and forced himself to look up and glance at her. Her eyebrows furrowed at such poor behaviour, but her body language remained passive upon the offence.

            “Captain. Technician Zina.” He nodded, and turned on his heel.

            Neither of them chased after him. The fact only strengthened his resolve to endure the private humiliation with dignity. Even if only the technician had witnessed him interrupting Phasma like she was a common soldier, it was a victory nonetheless.

            He had to dig up everything the database had on Zina. He had to—no, he _needed_ to know what had been so amazing about her as to make Phasma forget word and promise. The anger and the bile were taking over the pain of betrayal and he was glad for it. Better angry than hurt. Anger he could harness and put to good work.

            He endured a couple of hours of work around the control centre and its immediate surroundings before he found a good excuse to lock himself in the nearest office and do filework until his eyes bled. He could barely keep his usual posture and expression walking there: his insides churned and burned with a searing pain that wasn’t quite physical, yet not an emotion either.

            All these times she hadn’t answered, all these hours spent at the gym. When had it started? When she stopped taking calls from him? Before that? Last time they had been on the base? Had he misunderstood her, all those months ago on his birthday, when she had promised just the two of them, just the three of them? No, how could he, when he had been all ears, even if it had pained him? No open relationships were mentioned whatsoever; no casual meetings with others.

            His gloves whined; he forced himself to breathe, and relax his hands at least until he reached his office.

            He hurled himself in the chair with such force the thing rolled away from the desk; he had to grab and hold onto the edge if he didn’t want to fly out the viewport. The AI had to ask him to repeat two times before he could muster enough voice to give it a clear command.

            Technician Zina, aged twenty-five, biometric data. Her picture updated every couple of seconds as she grew before his eyes from an infant to the young woman who worked at the control centre. He devoured her info but nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Young and very intelligent, yes, but only in the tenth percentile potential-wise.

            He switched to her academy records. Had the grades for Officer Academy, but continued with her technical education. Outstanding physical records; excelled at hand-to-hand combat.

            Hux stopped to rub at his eyes. Why did _every_ single misfortune of his begin at a gym? First Phasma, then, Mitaka, now Zina—

            There was a literal snap in his thoughts as they sped up and re-ran before his eyes selected morsels of his findings. It fit too well to be a coincidence. He brought up all of Zina’s classmates from the junior academy and there, like a knife on a pillow, was Mitaka’s name.

            Hux leaned back in the chair. Mitaka, Dopheld, now naval lieutenant, main bridge personnel on board of the _Finalizer_. He couldn’t see the connection but it had to be there. How else Phasma had chosen him a birthday gift so random? There were no coincidences like that.

            Dopheld Mitaka, Dopheld Mitaka. The more he stared at the name, the more he felt physically ill. His throat hurt like he had run outside without his coat, and he could barely breathe. To know, to have found out that Mitaka was somehow involved in the whole affair… Hux gritted his teeth. Perhaps if he clenched his jaws hard enough the nausea and discomfort would give up and leave him be. Bitter pills ought to be swallowed the fastest.

            Despite all of his victories, despite his position in the Order, his strength of character, his iron will, he sat there in his chair and couldn’t move a finger, as if, as long as he remained in his office, the world would pause and wait for him to deal with his personal affairs before moving on. It wouldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. There was only so much time before he was needed somewhere on the base. For the first time in his life, he had no idea how to handle the situation.

            What if he broke down? What if he took his anger out on an innocent officer who had nothing to do with Hux’s crumbling personal life? He had to find a way to be perfect again. He wouldn’t be able to face his own men if he were anything but.

            _Breathe,_ he told himself, _breathe_. He clenched and unclenched his fists in a desperate attempt to calm himself: every time he relaxed he had to grow calmer. And he did, or at least he told himself so.

            There had to be a way to ascertain the facts. Phasma and Zina would deny everything, of course, even if he confronted them with what he knew. After that scene at the gym, he doubted Phasma would even pretend to take him seriously. She would accuse him of paranoia probably, and that was the last thing he needed added on top of everything else.

            That left Mitaka. Perhaps his gullible nature could be exploited. If Hux constructed his bluff in a way that would catch Mitaka unprepared, then… _Yes,_ he thought, _neither hard nor tricky._ They hadn’t heard from each other in a long time, given Hux’s schedule and their shared desire to do everything they could to keep it a secret. Even with the _Finalizer_ ’s position in orbit, their waking time barely overlapped, and when Hux did call Mitaka mostly informed him about work: small things omitted from reports, petty fights, morsels of mess hall conversations.

            Hux checked the time on the ship:  Mitaka was soon to depart for his shift, but if Hux was quick enough he could catch the lieutenant in his room. He put his comlink on the holodesk and instructed the AI to get him a call to Lieutenant Mitaka. It was going to be far from perfect with the neglected amplification devices, the call to a different type of device, and the nature of the planet skewing both inbound and outbound connections, but it had to do. He examined Mitaka’s picture while the line beneath it indicated the call progress. The quivering and glitches made him look away; he couldn’t even face the lieutenant’s representation on file without anger contorting his face.

            The dark line turned bright and faint static and crackle indicated Mitaka had picked up.

            “Si- _iiieeeee_ -ir?”

            Hux winced at the distortion. It would make it so hard to pick up on signals. What did Mitaka sound like even now? Incredulous? Surprised? Pleased? It irked him not to know.

            “Lieutenant. Do I catch you at a bad time?”

            “No, no- _ooohhhhhng_ ,” Mitaka said. “I was about to leave for my shift, but it can wai- _iiiiiiiii_ -it if you’re calling me.”

            “Excellent. I won’t take much of your time, anyway.” He breathed very, very carefully, lest Mitaka had a better reception on the ship. “I take it Captain Phasma is happy with Technician Zina?”

            There was a moment of crackling too long to be connection problems; if he replayed it in his mind he could almost hear Mitaka sucking in a breath to prevent himself from any verbal reaction. It was too late now. Hux took it as a confirmation.

            “Um- _mmm_. I don’t know if—“

            “I know everything,” Hux lied. “No use hiding it from me.”

            This time, he heard it: an audible exhale, warped by the connection with a couple of random high-pitched beeps and noises.

            “They’ve told you then _nnn_ - _nnngggg_ -n, sir?” he asked.

            Hux’s anger grew hot and strong in his chest and forearms. Mitaka had confirmed it for him. The lieutenant had admitted he had known from the very start, and had the audacity to pretend he was innocent. _How dare you,_ Hux thought. He was on the verge of spitting, or at least the mental equivalent, the gesture itself too revolting to be considered seriously.

            “They’ve told me nothing,” Hux informed Mitaka with the coldest voice he was capable of. He would breathe Starkiller’s winds at Mitaka if it were possible. “How long have you kept this from me? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he spat, less controlled now.

            On the _Finalizer_ , Mitaka all but cried out. “Sir, please, I- _iiiiiii_ \- can—“

            “You can _what_ , Lieutenant?” Hux’s pitch was rising by the word. He was glad the walls of the facility were so well isolated, and gave him the freedom to pour some of his anger into shouting before he choked and drowned in it.

            “You can keep a secret? You and Phasma can go around sleeping with others? Did you forget there are anti-fraternization rules that apply to you as well?”

            He could almost see Mitaka clutching his cap and turning it round and round, as if it could somehow steer away the worst of Hux’s outburst.

            “Si- _iiiiii_ -irr- _rrrr_ , Captain Phasma asked me not to tell you- _uuuuu_! She said she would talk to—“

            “WELL, SHE DIDN’T,” Hux hollered at Mitaka’s profile picture, so calm and collected, completely out of tune with the emotions of its owner. “And neither did _you_ ,” he hissed, unable to draw breath for a moment.

            “She asked me not to tel- _llllllrrrrrngn_ -l you anything!” Mitaka whimpered. His voice had gone soft and desperate, like a child preparing for corporal punishment. “Both you and Captain Phasma outran- _nnnnnnn_ -nnk me! If I tell you it’s reconditioning, if I don’t tell you it’s rec—“

            “Reconditioning,” Hux echoed. He slumped back into the chair one more time. All of his anger, all the rage and pain evaporated at the mention of that one word, gone as if they’d never been there in the first place, leaving an empty hole in his chest and cotton in his head. He felt … empty.

            “You’ve … slept with me all this time because she threatened you with reconditioning?” he asked. His voice barely made it out. His throat had constricted to a sensation of pure pain, so overwhelming and so tense, tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes. He rubbed at them before the burning became unbearable.

            On the _Finalizer_ , Mitaka’s gasp was warbled. “No!” His voice picked up in strength. If it weren’t for the poor connection, Hux would think there was a note of disbelief in it. “No, sir, I didn’t mea—“

            Hux let his hand flop onto the holotable and ended the connection. Mitaka’s image dissipated from the air in front of him; for a moment, he wished the real Mitaka could also somehow dissipate from existence. He looked around to make sure there was no one else in the room, to make sure there was no security feed to report on his less than graceful body language; then pulled his legs up, hugged his knees, and rested his chin on them.

            Instead of simply telling him things were off, Phasma, Mitaka, and apparently Zina, had gone behind his back to construct this elaborate scheme. He rubbed his forehead onto his kneecap, desperate to rub away the emotions and think, if he could only _think_ properly for a moment. All those months, Phasma had lied to him—and why? He couldn’t think of a single reason. Hadn’t he been understanding? Why the pretence of giving him time?

            Perhaps she had never intended to see him again in private; Mitaka had been there to distract him after all.

            Such sneaking around wasn’t like her, a voice somewhere deep in his mind argued. True, Phasma despised coyness and hinting when she could be straight with people from the onset. Perhaps the whole thing was a misunderstanding, and there was a valid explanation. But the pieces of the mystery fit too well together to not have a secret at their heart, and that, more than anything, convinced him he was right to suspect her and the others.

            He recognized the quasi-physical lid in his chest that kept his emotions at bay, though their sharp edges and painful throbbing had affected him deeper than he thought. He had humiliated Phasma, shouted at Mitaka. Shouted, _indoors_. Even for his outdoor speeches he rarely reached such heights of vocal output.

            His reaction had been a misstep of the worst kind. Shame and regret poured into the already disgusting mix of emotions stirring in him. When was the last time he had lost self-control like that, to go as far as to yell at a _junior_ officer? Dismissing, reprimanding—yes, all within limits, all … restrained. He had to find his way back into that cool and smooth mental space.

            With great reluctance, his legs obeyed him and stretched down to the floor. He went to the refresher and took off his tunic to splash ice-cold water onto his face and neck until the burn of yelling turned into a reaction to the cold. The colour reminded him of the dull glow at the bottom of Starkiller’s throat. Or his chest, covered in come, that first time when—

            “Stop,” he commanded himself. “That’s over.”

            He took ten long minutes to steady his breathing and cleanse himself of the emotions that had so disturbed him. The colour began draining from his skin.

            Once clean, and colourless, and cool as the snow covering the base, he left his office and went to look for Phasma.

            His distress hadn’t lasted as long as he had dreaded: odds were she was ending a patrol, and therefore close to the control centre. He tried to comm her, but the connection was so bad he couldn’t tell if she had even picked up. She must be on patrol then, somewhere close to the new excavation site in sector BS-7. The crystals of the planet, so well suited to the needs of the weapon, were not as gentle to human habitation.

            He should’ve checked the security feed from his office, he realized when he was too far away to do it. He had to go to the main security office. It did not appeal to him, to talk to others about her on such an occasion, but if the person’s discipline was up to standards it would make the visit short and relatively painless. Hux did not have to explain himself on the premises of his own project, either.

            The office was a small room cramped by the presence of the two techs on shift. One of them tried and failed to hide his sandwich when Hux entered. They saluted—the one spreading crumbs everywhere.

            “I’m having trouble locating Captain Phasma,’ he said as he approached the wall of screens that bathed the room in cool, sickly light. “The comm connection is bad, so I suspect she’s somewhere close to sector BS-7.”

            Eager to redeem himself perhaps, the sandwich tech started bringing up relevant feeds from all over the sector in question. Relying on good old cable connectivity for the base had been a good idea in the long run, with all the disruptions that made comming a pain. It wasn’t the quality he was used to on the _Finalizer_ , but everything was recognizable at least.

            “When did you last see her, sir?” the other tech asked.

            “She was in Gym 1 roughly three hours ago.”

            The other tech brought up and enlarged the feed from a cam that showed the entrance to the gym, and sped up the recording. Phasma’s shiny armour, accompanied by what could be only Zina, ran out the doors and exited the shot; by the time the tech brought up another angle they had already separated, and Phasma was heading towards one of the corridors where her patrol started.

            “Zina’s in one piece,” the sandwich tech mused. Hux glanced at him while the other was busy changing cams and trying to determine Phasma’s route.

            The man hesitated. Stars, did everyone but Hux know about what had been going on? His hand clenched into a fist again. But the tech had apparently taken the glance as a sign of interest because he swung his chair towards Hux and assumed what could only be a relaxed gossip pose.

            “They’ve been training together every now and then,” he explained. “I think Zina excelled at hand-to-hand in junior academy, and she’s been showing Phas—er, _Captain_ Phasma some moves a smaller person might employ.

            Hux tilted his head to the side. “Oh? Has this gone on for a while?”

            “I don’t think so,” the tech mused. He chewed on his bottom lip in the absence of the sandwich. “Two weeks perhaps, as far as I know. Could be more.”

            “Found her,” the other tech announced. She rolled her chair away to make room for Hux to approach the screens. “Just going out of BS-7 as you said, sir. Connection should be better where she’s now, if you’d like to comm her?”

            Hux nodded. “I will.”

            He tried not to look at the sandwich crumbs as he exited and tried the comlink again.

            Phasma picked up this time. “Phasma.” The distortion was bearable, but it wouldn’t let him determine whether she sounded like her usual self, or there was something else.

            “I need to talk to you. In private,” he told her. Stars, he was thankful his voice sounded normal.

            There was a pause on her side, but she seemed to concede. “I’ll wait for you in the meeting room in BS-5.”

            “I’m on my way.”

            He gestured to the nearest mouse droid, gave it the coordinates, and followed it as it chose for him the shortest and safest route.

            As promised, Phasma was already there when he entered the meeting room. Under normal circumstances, there would’ve been at least one or two people doing some work that had to be politely escorted out, but at the time the entire sector seemed empty, meeting room included.

            She had taken off her helmet and deposited it under her arm. Her body seemed relaxed. Seeing her like this, on the day she had paraded her conquest at the gym? It infuriated him anew.

            “So,” he snapped before she had the chance to speak or steer the conversation. “The entire base knows about you and your little girlfriend? Almost hurt my feelings, Captain,” he said, filling every word with copious amounts of venom.

            Her face went ashen and her body swayed like she was about to fall. Her expression shot from surprise to shock to anger, to barely suppressed rage. Armoured limbs began trembling with the potential for violence she could unleash on him. Once, it would’ve amazed and aroused him. Now he felt slightly stupid for provoking her when alone, but she was too disciplined to even touch him, let alone try to hurt him.

            Or was she? He hardly knew the woman standing in front of him. Under the present circumstances, that thought was more frightening than anything else. He tried to revel in the pleasure of seeing her hurt by his words, but the feeling wasn’t strong enough yet.

            “How d—“

            “Don’t bother,” he spat. “Mitaka told me, though I had to pull it from him with a tractor beam.”

            Every segment of Phasma’s armour was reinforced, which made the creaking of her helmet—screeching in the tight hold between her body and her arm—a grating and intimidating sound. The whole plan was a shortcut to disaster, but he couldn’t care less.

             “You admit he knew what you were doing from the start?” He attacked again. There was a sick satisfaction in goading her, in making her feel what _he_ had felt when he had discovered the truth. All the anger, all the anguish. If she snapped and broke him in two, it would’ve been worth it.

            There was a scraping sound. He looked down to see her hands clenched into fists and the segments of her crush gauntlets pressing against each other. She looked like she was about to hurl herself at him and cause damage beyond repair … and then her body slumped, and she put on her helmet.

            “You disgust me. I can’t look at you. This kind of reaction is why I hesitated to tell you anything.” She picked up her weapon and assumed her usual pose. He did not move out of her way and when their shoulders met she pushed him aside like he was something undeserving of her attention entirely: a mouse droid she avoided stepping on for her own convenience.

            “Your paranoia will be the end of you,” she hissed while stalking out of the room.

            He stood there, clenching his fists, waiting for the triumphant feeling of having won the argument.

            It never came.

            In fact, he felt almost as empty as when Mitaka had practically admitted to sleeping with him under the threat of reconditioning. He tried to be angry at her response. What had he done to deserve her mistrust? Confronting her about the lies she’d told him was not permitted?

            His anger sparked a flame of righteousness inside him that burned for a couple of seconds, and began to die.

            One thing at least was certain: they were through with this.

            He went through the rest of his day more or less as planned, somehow managing not to crumble to pieces. The blows taken from both Phasma and Mitaka, as well as the collective damage dealt, had beaten him like a used ragdoll. He was gutted, emptied and dried, filled with something soft and weak that could not support the height and weight of his body. Conversations were a nightmare and he kept them as short as possible.

            He had hoped the end of the day would bring him rest, maybe even quiet if not peace, but the pain went with him everywhere: in the ‘fresher, into bed. The events of the day took over the space between his eyes and eyelids, and ran in a loop while his brain scrutinized them for cues, little details that would help him understand how he’d ended up in such a situation. He found nothing, no hidden string to enlighten him, but the questions that had come up after the conversation with Mitaka kept pestering him.

            The anger made him punch his spare pillow, but his fist was weak. The dull _whump_ of a noise was the opposite of satisfactory.

            Completely at random, it occurred to him he had thought often, in the past months, about sharing a bed with Mitaka. Not the Starkiller bed, but the _Finalizer_ one. It was softer and big enough to let them have fun, or even sleep somewhat askew.

            “Stop,” he ordered himself and screwed his eyes shut. The crackle and static of his call to Mitaka filled the inside of his eyelids. He rubbed them to disperse the annoyance and let his palms rest on his face, as if it would somehow protect him from the pain.

            He had to stop thinking about all of … that. There was nothing to be done. If Phasma had mixed in reconditioning to threaten Mitaka, he was not about to stoop to her level and do the same. As he had extinguished his desire for her—not completely, not until today—he would extinguish his anger, his bitterness, his lust for Mitaka. He had done it once, he could do it again, faster and more thoroughly this time. Now he had experience to teach him. Let them have his indifference. In the grand scheme of things, it would be a shame if bed matter spats prevented High Command from giving their best to the Order.

            The more he thought about it, the more he grew convinced of the vast amounts of damage the anti-fraternisation rules protected them from. If someone like him could fall victim to their sex drive, who was to say his subordinates were safe? He had to examine and even find a pretext to amend some of the rules and notes on the matter. If indeed the “news” about Phasma and Zina had reached more than one ear, it would only confirm them if first thing in the morning General Hux revised the regulation book.

            He tossed and turned a couple of times. There seemed to be no perceivable problem with the bed, yet for some reason he couldn’t find one bit of comfort. It irritated him. Not only had he endured a nightmare of a day, but now he had to feel mysterious physical discomforts?

            For a moment his anger flared. He was tempted to throw his pillow at the wall, or even tear it apart, with hands and teeth. His better judgement hurried to dissuade him, as it would be yet another mess to deal with. The pillow would either have to be retrieved at some point, or cleaned up after. He didn’t want to wait for his hospitality droid to change his linen, much as the act of violence would calm him.

            He took a sleeping pill and threw himself at the bed in revenge. There were only a couple left: he would have to visit medbay to get some more, especially if sleep was going to be difficult in the upcoming days. There was enough to worry about, and despite his ability to work hard, he had to prioritize at least some basic health before ending up in medbay with another stomach crisis.

            The bed took mercy on him as the pill worked on his system. He relished the few moments of relief before it dissolved his consciousness, and he drifted away, his last thought that perhaps, perhaps the next morning his alarm wouldn’t be as jarring.

            It was.


	8. Interlude II

             Things were not going well, he caught himself thinking a couple of weeks later. Not horrible, not a disaster beyond his ability to fix, but not well, either. With nothing to enrich what little free time and thought he had, he threw himself at his work and relied on it to save him from the dull ache that had made itself at home in his chest and throat. And for a while, he thought it worked. As if anticipating his availability, problems cropped up day and night. Snowstorms impeded some last-minute digging; late shipments impeded construction; unanticipated testing almost blowing them all to pieces. He worked and slept, ate and drank every now and then, mainly to keep the sleeping pills from making their way back up his throat.

            Lone master of the Starkiller project, his pride and joy, he was exempt from regular physical evaluation for the time being, and glad for it. He didn’t think he could even look at the word gym, let alone set his foot in one. What if he met Phasma there? It pained him to even look at her during working hours. Their conversations were done in stride; their only other form of communication—notes and reports bearing their respective signatures. Those he could only endure if he pretended they were from someone else and hid the name while he read them.

            He hadn’t heard from Mitaka since that dreadful day, didn’t want to hear from him either. For all intents and purposes, the lieutenant was just another officer serving on the bridge of the _Finalizer_. His rank was too low to require any direct communication with Hux. It was for the better, Hux thought. Now that Mitaka was no longer under obligation to sleep with Hux, and Hux was no longer deluding himself about the benefits of having someone, both their lives had changed for the better. If Phasma tried to bully him into sleeping with someone else, he could submit a formal complaint to Harkov, or any naval authority capable of protecting him. Hux was in the army.

            Zina he tried to treat as any other technician and officer. It was only fair, and if he wasn’t at his best behaviour at all times, at least he tried. She was a quiet one compared to the majority of her colleagues; he pursed his lips and didn’t say anything the few times she cracked a joke. In another life, he would’ve been happy for her and Phasma. In this one, he wasn’t. If he had enough proof for a swift court martial he wouldn’t have hesitated. Rules were there for everyone.

            As time passed, he tried to get used to his new old life. It was better when he didn’t remember what had made it good prior to the row with Phasma and Mitaka.


	9. 7

            He was following a mouse droid on a standard route one day—he would rather lose his rank than admit he couldn’t very well navigate the facility without one—when someone’s footsteps hurried behind him.

            A thrill passed from head to toe and he turned around, body tense and ready to fight.

            “Technician Zina,” he stated when she smiled at him and came to his side. Her bright expression was one of few directed at him so openly. Most of them belonged to personnel who were said to harbour deep admiration for him. It was a surprise under the circumstances: he’d imagined she would take Phasma’s side and treat him with nothing more than the respect she owed to his rank.

            “Sir,” she said. She took one last hurried hop and fell in step with him, a third of a pace behind. “Are you headed towards the control centre?”

            “I am.”

            “May I accompany you?”

            He stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her, ignoring the questioning bleeps of the mouse droid. _Why not_ , he had meant to say, but suspicion took hold of him. Why was she here, so far away from the places frequented by control room personnel? Had Phasma sent her to spy on him?

            The instincts that had protected him for so long advised for caution. On the other hand, Zina was his subordinate: the stripes on his armband protected him from everything. Her calm demeanour and patient smile didn’t seem like the mask of an overeager spy, but he was going to be cautious nonetheless. With a nod he dismissed the droid. Phasma knew he relied on the little ones to get around, but on the off-chance she hadn’t told Zina he had no intention of exposing himself.

            She started on the topic of the new interface system. Relieved she wasn’t going to address anything personal, he responded in earnest. It was important for him that Starkiller was in absolute harmony with its technicians. Feedback in any form was vital.

            They were combing out a disagreement over the recharge rate displays when she took a turn to the left where he usually expected one to the right. In sheer reflex to avoid being crowded he took to the left as well, and dropped his speed just enough to let her lead without suspicion. He relied on the majority of his personnel not to get lost in their respective sectors, and even if Zina’s knowledge of the floor plan was better than his, he could’ve sworn that left had been a right.

            “It’s a shortcut, sir,” she told him with a smile. “Unless you need to be somewhere else first…?”

            “I don’t,” he said. “Let’s see this shortcut.”

            Engrossed in the discussion, he didn’t pay as much attention to the way as he had intended to. He wasn’t going to need it anyway, if next time he was to employ a mouse droid as well, but the change of levels made an impression on him. Mouse droids would be useless if they couldn’t overcome stairs, but most of the routes they chose avoided them whenever efficiency allowed for it.

            They were crossing one of the overpass bridges—he was about to ask her what kind of shortcut was that—when footsteps from dead ahead caught his attention. Phasma was walking in their direction from the other side of the bridge.

            Hux frowned at the helmet and it frowned back. The tension between them rose, as always when they had to cooperate. No one but Zina knew about their row, and they were probably doing well if no one had remarked on changes in their relationship, but it was never easy. The bridge, never meant for two-way traffic, felt even narrower and slightly dangerous. Phasma and Zina wouldn’t feel it if they fell from it: the height was not too great even for him, who had neglected his form for the past weeks. But there were troopers and personnel beneath them, some of them probably glancing up to look at the two commanders and a technician, and Hux would rather die on that bridge than fall from it and turn into the laughingstock of the entire base.

            For the same reasons, he wouldn’t back away, too. Something told him Phasma had no intention of stepping aside either, despite him outranking her on the premises.

            “Captain Phasma,” Zina greeted with the same respectful, cheerful tone she had Hux. It made sense, he supposed, for her to be equally jovial with both of them in public. Hux had to at least admit Phasma had had the decency to hit on someone with common sense enough to keep to protocol.

            “General Hux. Technician Zina.” Phasma’s helmet dipped at each name.

            Awkward silence fell. It was a pity the density of it couldn’t be moulded into something useful, like TIE fighters—or bridge extensions so they could go around each other.

            “Have you finished your patrol for this shift, ma’am?” Zina inquired, unperturbed by the silent war of glares her superior officers were waging. “Perhaps you could walk with us to the control centre? We were just headed there.”

            “I cannot. There are still a couple more clicks to cover,” Phasma said. She was in such a rush to deny the invitation she almost interrupted Zina. _Hah_ , Hux thought, pleased that at least he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

            “A pity,” Zina said. “Then we must find a compromise and cross this bridge.” The moment of silence after her words echoed like a silent explosion. The chatter from below paused all at once, the rhythmic trot-trot-trot paused mid-beat. In the moment of silence, in that absolute stillness, clarity descended upon Hux like a snowstorm. His heart slammed against his ribs.

            The moment passed and everything returned to normal; the stream of people and their noise resumed, the echoes of it climbed the walls and ceiling once more. Hux turned around, so incredulous for a moment he felt like the bridge had tilted and tried to get him off its back like a wild beast. Zina smiled at him before her eyes moved to Phasma. It was almost as if she was taunting him to follow her gaze.

            He was taken aback by her … tactical mind, impertinence, brilliance, pettiness, _plan_. There was no one single word to cover and convey the rising storm of his feelings. He was angry at her, at the same time amazed at how artfully she had put everything together. Was she to be punished or promoted? Or both?

            _But how willing are the parties to negotiate_ , he asked himself as he straightened his back and faced Phasma once more. They had reached a mental and physical deadlock where, even if they wanted to try and make peace, neither would step down. Both were too proud to lock the weapon first.

            Perhaps that was why Zina had done it; perhaps it had been her own plan all along, and Phasma had been manipulated into it as much as Hux. And in front of everyone, up here where they could see, she was just a quiet technician who could only smile and nod when in the company of her superior officers.

            Hux focused on Phasma’s grumpy helmet. They probably looked a bit silly, having a silent staredown in the middle of the bridge.

            He remembered a conversation with his father: they had discussed one of Hux’s first battle simulations at the officer Academy. He had hesitated a lot back then, procrastinated, almost lost his team’s victory at the feet of indecision.

            _Waiting for the right opportunity to strike—in other words, patience—is a good trait in any soldier, my son_ , his father had told him. _But if you wait and it never comes, what then? A good soldier knows how to wait for the right moment, but High Command has to make that moment. Time is always of the essence. Are you a soldier or a commander, my son?_

            _Commander_ , Hux had replied with hesitation, at that moment feeling like neither. But that had been then.

            “Perhaps—“

            “I suppose—”

            He and Phasma stopped and measured each other.

            Hux let out a small cough. “Apologies for interrupting you, Captain. Please.”

            Phasma hesitated, he could feel it; but then her arms relaxed, and her weapon dropped a notch.

            “It will be of no consequence if I extend my patrol by accompanying you. Up to a certain point,” she added in haste. It seemed to Hux that the weapon rose again.

            “That is kind of you,” he said. He swung his hands free from the parade rest he’d taken and gestured with a slow and, he hoped, polite move towards the end of the bridge Phasma had come from.

            A moment of hesitation hung endless between all three of them. At last, Phasma turned on her heel and led the way. Hux followed suit, trying not to let the dismantling relief show on his face.

            They walked in silence for a while, or rather Phasma walked and he tried to walk abreast, in case someone saw them. He didn’t want to skip and rush behind her like a youngling despite his willingness for … whatever was happening.

            “We’re not going to the control centre?” Phasma asked after another minute.

            “Yes, we are? Technician Zina said this was a…” He halted, mid-word and mid-step, and turned around. Zina was nowhere to be seen. He took a couple of steps back to look at the distance they’d covered but there was no trace of her whatsoever.

            She had remained on the bridge; or she hadn’t followed at all. He turned back to Phasma.

            “I did not dismiss her,” he grunted. Some of his anger flared; the side of him angry at the cheeky technician took over.

            “Perhaps she had more important business to attend to,” Phasma suggested. Her tone was so flat Hux could’ve slipped and fallen from it.

            Hux glared at her; his hands, until then behind his back, dropped in disbelief, then clenched in anger. He should drop it all, not bother, find the nearest mouse droid and…

            And remember Phasma’s body language before he took any rash decisions. She had been willing to negotiate, and if it hadn’t shown much in her words, he did glimpse it in her body language. Against his own better judgement, he gave Zina’s plan one last chance.

            “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. He strode back to her. “Let’s resume. If you can point me to the nearest bigger intersection, I’ll let you finish your patrol as planned.”

            Phasma’s helmet bobbed up and down. “There’s one not too far from here. It should have mouse droids circling.”

            Hux’s chest stung. He didn’t know if she was mocking him, or telling him in a polite way she would help him get to one as he needed it. He wouldn’t get completely lost, not in Starkiller’s main facility—but he preferred to follow a droid rather than embarrass himself and ask officers for the way every three steps or so.

            He followed Phasma through the empty narrow shaft of a rarely used corridor. Perhaps it had been busy once, until the base had been expanded and the most important facilities—connected, it occurred to him. The quiet rhythm of their steps weighed on him: he felt like he was on borrowed time and every step narrowed his chances to use the opportunity to … what? He wasn’t sure. Make up with Phasma? Listen to an explanation? She didn’t seem in a hurry to offer one; yet she had been ready to negotiate if he had read her right.

            Her silence made it clear _he_ was the one to make the first step: but he had no idea where to start, or what to say.

            What if his attempt to clear the situation made things worse? He suppressed a shudder. Phasma was a person with endless resources to put into dislike, ready to deepen the feeling every time the object of her disapproval opened their mouths, or even reminded her of their existence.

            “Zina seems like a person who could easily hold a high rank if given the chance,” he offered before the silence had dried his vocal folds like old fruit. His mouth was sticky. “Her manoeuvre on the bridge was a delicate and risky one.”

            It wasn’t the best line to say to someone after weeks of private silence, but it would have to do. He hoped Phasma would see he meant what he was saying, even if he was irritated with the technician in his capacity of a superior officer who had been tricked.

            “I agree,” Phasma said. Her pace didn’t change. “I wouldn’t know about an officer position, I deal with troopers.”

            Another silence filled with nothing but the echo of their steps. At one point Phasma looked like she was about to say something—it was hard to tell considering her stiffness—but the moment passed and the silence remained, leaving Hux with nothing to catch onto.

            “You could’ve told me you were … sparring with her,” he said. Whispered, really: his voice barely got out of his mouth.

            Phasma said nothing to that. Ice-cold waves washed his body. He must’ve blundered so badly he had lost the entire campaign, but at that thought he saw he had walked ahead of her. She had slowed down; he had to backtrack and stand next to her. When their shoulders touched and she didn’t back away he let out the biggest inner sigh of relief. Now if he could only stop his from intensities churning with the twisting pain of hope. It was an old thing between them, a signal to pay attention. Phasma returned the bump, perhaps too strong, but it was all he needed to seek the gaze of her helmet.

            “You should’ve seen yourself when you … confronted me about it.” She was murmuring but her voice was so cold he all but took a step back. The increasing racket of a nearby intersection filled the background and Hux had to shift every bit of attention to listening to her.

            “It was ugly,” Phasma said. “Something got into your head and you overreacted because of a _speculation_.”

            Displeasure made Hux frown. “I didn’t speculate,” he defended himself. “Mitaka… He confirmed for me that you and Zina were together. How could you keep such a secret from me, after all that talk about honesty? _Nine Corellian Hells_ , Phasma, I would’ve been fine with it if you had mentioned it!”

            “I _was_ going to tell you,” Phasma repeated. Her words snapped at the end like broken strings. She was getting annoyed, too. She readjusted the grip on her weapon and for a moment Hux thought she would walk away from him with just that.

            “You know, you are right,” she said all of a sudden. Her confession startled him so much he would’ve stumbled if they were walking. “You deserve the whole truth, and I will give you exactly that.”

            The confession undertook the tone of a threat.

            “Mitaka was the one to introduce us,” she began. Hux gaped at her: Mitaka had been the mastermind behind—

            _Stop this_ , he ordered himself before that thought could develop. _You’re being ridiculous._ He forced himself to listen, the way he read a report before jumping to conclusions. If only he could manage his personal life the way he managed reports.

            “A couple of weeks before you exploded, Zina came to me at the gym,” Phasma continued. If she had noticed the turmoil of his thoughts manifesting, she didn’t give any sign of it. “She was in the same junior academy as Mitaka. He had, apparently, mentioned to her I like to have a sparring partner who can keep up with me and she offered some hand-to-hand combat. I was a bit sceptical due to her … build. But she’s good at it, and it’s almost a challenge sometimes.”

            Spare glints of her armour suggested she had shifted her weight.

            “We work well together, I guess?” Her inflection rose; she was questioning the statement herself. “It’s good practice. She’s good company. When the banter turned to flirting I had to stop it because I couldn’t go and sleep with her without discussing it with you.”

            Hux resisted the temptation to shift _his_ weight, or dig a hole and bury himself at the heart of Starkiller Base. Phasma could’ve hit him with a blunt weapon and it wouldn’t have been as big a hit. He couldn’t even face how massive his mistake had been. Anger spread through his chest and made him clench his teeth.

            “I was going to talk to you that very day, in fact, but then you came at me with your head firmly lodged up your ass and there was no point defending myself for something I hadn’t even done.”

            “Did you tell her about…” Hux threw in while studying his boots. He had the feeling the shame was melting his face off. He couldn’t even look at her.

            “Of course not,” she spat. “But I suspect she knows at least something. She and Mitaka have a … an unusually strong bond for two people who work so far from each other. I know Mitaka wouldn’t slip that kind of information even under torture, but around her he may as well lower that guard.”

            She shrugged. “Now you know. Poor timing and amazingly mishandled suspicion on your side, but you do.”

            The silence that followed was crushing. Hux tried to process what Phasma had told him, but it was like handling a shard of transparisteel that also happened to be on fire. He didn’t know where to start with it, how to hold it. Pinnacle of poor timing indeed. The more he thought about it the more his pride shrivelled into a concentrated point of burning, inescapable shame and anger that ate at him from the inside out.

            Shame, anger, and _guilt_ , so strong he wished to evacuate his consciousness from his body and transfer it to something else, anything really. The severity of his meltdown and its consequences weighed on him like a rock. It wasn’t fair, that Phasma had let him lash out instead of telling him everything right there. If she had only told him before… Before what? His outburst?

            It was too late to pick it apart and examine the morality of either’s actions. His body sagged with weariness.

            “I’m sorry.”

            The words came out of his mouth like barbed wire, painful and tearing at his insides. He tried to silence the part of him that still insisted he had been in the right—and in some sense, his hunch had been truthful—and hung his head, at a loss of both word and action. It pained him more than the collective agony of all of those weeks spent like there had been a rock lodged on his chest: now the rock was broken and the pain of his injuries had caught up to him.

            “I’m sorry, Phasma, I … I really am. I don’t know what else to do or say.”

            He stood there, head hung, waiting for her to pronounce her sentence upon him. It felt like months, years, centuries. He could almost hear Starkiller crushing the base and reclaiming its skin and innards from the Order.

            “It’s a start,” she murmured at last.

            Before he could react she turned again and started walking. “Let’s get you to the control centre before Zina starts worrying I’ve killed you.”

            He had to trot to get back to her side. “Chin up,” she advised him. “Can’t give you an uppercut, security will freak out.”

            “I don’t think anyone will have the guts to come and stop you from killing me if you’ve set your mind to do it,” he pointed out while squaring his shoulders and assuming some semblance of a decent posture.

            “That’s true,” she said. Her voice swayed at the end with her usual note of condescension. Even if it did little to ease the clogging, gagging condensation of negative emotions gathered in his throat, he appreciated the inflections. He supposed he deserved some of the guilt that weighed on him: a good lesson in hearing all the facts before acting. He was aware now, that his paranoia had gotten the better of him, though at the time it had sounded as valid and logical as any other thought.

            “Everything is back to normal, then?” he asked, relieved to hear her speak to him on her own free will.

            “Hardly,” Phasma grunted. “I appreciate your apology, but this will need time to … scab. Isn’t there anyone else you also need to apologize to?’

            Hux swallowed. The audible gulp startled him. “Yes, I … I think that one would be best served in person as well. I need to go back to the ship in three days, so there’s a good opportunity to see him.”

            “The sooner the better,” Phasma said.

            The noise of troopers and personnel became a river below their feet as they crossed another semi-level bridge and walked into a broader corridor. It gleamed with the polished metal and multitude of lights belonging to a place intended to last and be used. Phasma stopped.

            “If you take to the left you’ll reach the main hall with the conference rooms, there’s plenty of droids there. I’ll go back and finish my patrol.”

            “Thank you,” he breathed. It was a relief she’d had the mercy—a mercy he was sure he hardly deserved—to take him close enough to where droids often passed. He swore never to follow another person on shortcuts again, not even Phasma.

            “One more thing,” he said.

            “Just one?”

            He ignored the sarcasm. “If Zina didn’t know about any of this, why did she lead me to the bridge in the first place?”

            Phasma’s helmed inclined to one side. “I’m not sure myself. I told her you were being stressed and pissy—don’t look at me like that—so if that coincided with Mitaka stopping to talk about you…” she paused.

            “Mitaka… talks about me?”

            Phasma turned her head to look him dead in the face and she did it very, very slowly. It was the key Phasma gesture to make the other person look and feel stupid for at least a week. “That man has had the most embarrassing crush on you since before either of you were born. His white noise of choice is probably you snoring.”

            _Been awhile since the last oddly specific and mildly disturbing comparison from her_ , Hux thought. The guilt of having yelled at the lieutenant made him want to claw his face off and jump to his death in Starkiller’s throat.

            “I doubt he told her you two were sleeping together,” Phasma noted. “But she’s too smart for her own good.”

            “Might it be that you have a type?”

            Phasma elbowed him. The edges of her plates dug into his skin even through the stiff uniform. She was a master of causing pain when she had to. “Be careful with that mouth. Forgiveness takes time.”

            “My apologies,” he said, trying not to rub the painful spot in his side. He did mean it, though. “If you trust her … tell her. I don’t like it when sensitive information like that goes around, but if she knows Mitaka it might be the better thing to do. If you want to contact him, use my main office near the control centre. I’ll comm you the door code.”

            Phasma nodded. “Appreciated. I hope she’s open-minded about … complicated relationships. I don’t want to be made to choose between her and you.” Out of nowhere her shoulders sagged and she eased her hands until he blaster pointed to the floor. She looked like she was about to say something else, but something got her attention and her head snapped to follow it. She fished out her comlink and pointed it at the mouse droid to get it.

            “Thank you,” Hux said. “I’m glad we had this conversation.”

            As much as his boots allowed, he stood up on his toes and planted a soft kiss on her helmet. Phasma made a disgruntled noise and pushed him away. If it weren’t for the security feed he’d probably be a flat decoration on the wall behind him. He made a note to review the footage as soon as he had the time.

            “I’ll shred your ass with a whip of cables,” she hissed.

            “Are you sure?” he asked with a grin. “I might like it.”

            “You might,” Phasma allowed, “but I will enjoy it to the fullest, and have the added pleasure of watching you not being able to walk or sit for weeks ahead.”

            She turned around without another word and headed back. He watched her cape flutter behind her, the glint of armour as she passed each cluster of lights planted in the walls of the corridor, and for the first time in a very long while felt … relieved.

            It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start to recovery. She didn’t have to forgive him immediately; that he knew and understood. There was still so much to talk about, so much to explain—the connection between Zina and Mitaka worried him—and there was so little time to use without arousing suspicion. Zina’s ingenuity of orchestrating his and Phasma’s meeting on the bridge intimidated him, but as long as his subordinates didn’t start manifesting part-time brilliance and CO manipulation the hierarchy was safe.

            He hurried after the mouse droid.

            In the control centre, he was careful to engage a number of people before approaching Zina. Datoo, who was always delighted to report on anything Hux would require of him, took his time elaborating on the new interface. Some of his observations overlapped with Zina’s: Hux took a mental note to talk to technicians more often.

            With effort he managed to point the colonel’s attention elsewhere. It would’ve been preferable if he talked to Zina before either of them died of old age.

            “Report?”

            Her hands flew over the horizontal part of her console. “Energy levels feedback appears to be operational, though it’s hard to say when in dormant state. I can run a diagnostic, but without a test it may be useless.” She turned her eyes towards him briefly, more in acknowledgement than anything else.

            “I’ll inform Colonel Datoo to prepare for a charging test.”

            “Yes, sir,” she said, eyes already back on the screen while fingers flew over the keyboard proper.

            “Technician Zina,” Hux said, opting for a level tone. “About your sparring matches with Captain Phasma.”

            Her head snapped too fast for someone casually involved. It was a safe gesture in a room full of people ignorant about it: but Hux knew, and caught it.

            “Sir?”

            “I trust you won’t get yourself killed.”

            Giggles erupted from those who had heard the remark. Even Hux allowed himself a tiny grin. Zina laughed, but quickly regained her composure. “Yes, sir!”

            Hux turned to talk to Datoo, who had come to see what was the matter. She didn’t need to know if there had been a hint in there, or perhaps a permission she was only later to realize and understand. If she had scripted that entire scene between him and Phasma on the bridge, she should have no problem with this one when the time came.


	10. 8

            Long after the sun had set, Starkiller fed or not, he was able to reach his local quarters for a couple of hours of cherished sleep. It was sheer luck that both he and Phasma were too busy to spend any kind of free time together: he didn’t think he could endure a physical punishment that evening. Phasma would not endanger the Starkiller project by depriving his already insomniac body of even more hours he could invest into sleep, even if she knew the limits and how to test those limits. The promise of ripping him a new one had to wait until he had the health to survive it. Perhaps that was what would strengthen their weakened bond: good old violence, for her to inflict and for him to endure.

            The thought of suffering made him think of Mitaka while he was folding his uniform and preparing the bed. It made him wince. While Phasma had great authority, equal to his in many ways, Mitaka was just a naval lieutenant. He had suffered the worst of Hux’s anger and outburst. They hadn’t talked for weeks afterwards.

            Hux was tempted to call him on the spot. A quick check with the chrono on the datapad showed Mitaka was in the middle of his shift. He wouldn’t have been able to answer that call without the need to announce it was General Hux calling him, just like that, from Starkiller Base. Hux gave up and turned his back to the comlink on the night stand.

            Apology in person would be best, he reminded himself. He didn’t want another misunderstanding aided by the poor connection between his holotable in the office and a comlink on a ship in orbit. The memory of the static and distortion made him question whether Mitaka had hesitated at all in that moment, or it had been from the connection. His resolution to go back for at least a day grew. In truth, his presence wasn’t necessary: Harkov was competent enough to handle her responsibilities without Hux being there, as she had proved many a time.

            The opportunity, however, was too good to pass; besides, he could use the time to show his active personal involvement with the Star Destroyer’s crew, after so many months spent on the base.

            He rested his hand on the spare pillow. Would Mitaka forgive him? He hoped so. After the first few weeks the violent anger had burned out and left a smouldering heap of pain and residual longing. Out of sheer spite, the few times he had slept properly his mind had showed him dreams where he was held and handled by strong arms that felt too much like Mitaka’s; his body safe in the embrace of someone entirely too similar to Mitaka. The shame of not being able to control his desire for someone who had supposedly betrayed him only made those dreams more persistent.

             He glanced at the pills on his night stand. The new container was almost empty already, but the mere sight of its medical white and orange label made him feel sick. The droid that had attended to him during his last visit at the medbay had warned him of the side effects of this much substance abuse. There were stronger chemicals on base, it had conceded with a disapproving tone, but they came with even stronger side effects.

            Unlike his human subordinates, droids—especially medbay droids—had a very different notion of self-preservation. He had reminded himself of that when the droid in question had accused him of mishandling his own body, so he wouldn’t send it for spare parts. In the end, he had given up demanding the mentioned stronger chemicals and let the droid rip off a promise he would take better care of himself or check in when he wasn’t feeling well.

            He sighed and turned his back to the pills. The ability to sleep anywhere anytime he’d lost not too long after leaving the Academy; he doubted it would return at his convenience because he needed it.

             After being artificially induced for so long, sleep refused to come to him. He turned and rolled in bed for what felt like hours, exhausted and restless at once. Every time he closed his eyes he felt like there was an object behind his eyelids that forced him to focus on it despite its proximity. The strain made his eyes and head hurt even worse than a normal headache.

            He gave up and jumped off the bed in irritation. His greatcoat was hung in the office and he put it on like an afterthought before he settled behind the desk and began drafting the amendment. Scratchy gaberwool was never meant to touch bare skin, but somehow it felt much more welcoming than the bed. Soon, the warmth of his body soaked into the thick fabric and it began giving it back to him.

            Sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted was far from the perfect state to be in when drafting important documents. It had to be subtle and non-conspicuous even upon examination. The log change that was going to list his name next to the amendment was nothing to be happy about, but he couldn’t meddle with it. That was crossing the line in a most unprofessional way.

            Three days later he was wondering if he had been taking those sleeping pills and forgetting about it. His stomach certainly felt that way. It also rumbled in hunger, just to complicate the situation that was his health. At least it was quiet enough for the bay noise to swallow it, so that only Hux knew it was there.

            “Send a transmission to Captain Harkov. Tell her I’ll meet her over lunch, if she has not taken hers yet,” he told the co-pilot as soon as he got onto the shuttle.

            The co-pilot scrambled to obey. Of course, Harkov had little choice in the matter, even if she had taken lunch and breakfast together. Nonetheless, it didn’t hurt to be polite. Hux allowed himself a smirk while he was tightening the safety belt. Harkov shared his inclination towards sweets, so dessert was going to be abundant, if nothing else.

            The trip from Starkiller to the _Finalizer_ was never a long one when the ship was mostly idle and orbiting close to the main facility. He took the time to review the amendment one last time, or at least to stare at it in disbelief. It was solid proof he hadn’t been taking pills—or breakfast.

            Between making sure everything was in order and would function in his absence, reviewing Zina’s reports that Datoo had forwarded to him, and generally trying not to succumb to the awkward panic of pre-departure, he had used the little pockets of free time to rewrite the clause until it looked like a quote from the databank rather than something that had yet to go in. He had double- and triple-checked the wording, the provided reasons. Fear of its probable rejection pumped out of his heart with the blood, and he constantly had to remind himself his authority mattered in the case. He was a general, he was High Command.

            Perhaps it was not the right thing to do—but it was the only thing that came to mind under the circumstances.

             Captain Harkov was waiting for him in Hangar Bay One, as expected. Hux wouldn’t have been surprised to see officers carrying plates upon plates of food directly to the shuttle entrance, but it was just the captain and a number of officers and stormtroopers to greet his rank upon arrival.

            When his boot touched upon _Finalizer_ durasteel Harkov stepped forward and saluted. “General Hux. Welcome back, sir.”

            “Captain Harkov,” Hux greeted. “At ease. Anything to report?”

            Harkov relaxed her shoulders and fell in step with him. “Nothing requires your immediate attention. I’ve ordered lunch to be served in conference room twelve?” Her intonation rose to inquire whether said room was up to Hux’s standards when it came to lunch. It was one of the smallest ones, tucked away in a bit of space close to the hangar, unlike the majority which enjoyed the privilege of being closer to or within the senior staff habitation level. It was good thinking on Harkov’s part, not to make Hux wait for his food the one time he had requested it.

            Knowing how gossip worked, him eating was probably going right into the stuff of legends within the cycle.

            “Excellent,” he said to Harkov while the escort dispersed once they were outside the hangar.

            Hux’s prediction had been accurate to the letter: he could almost hear the table creak and sigh under the small platoon of dishes and desserts laid on it. He hoped the leftovers would be snuck back to the kitchens, rather than thrown away.

            He listened to her rattle off the usual highlights of Star Destroyer maintenance while the domrai fruit cake teased his nose and made him salivate. Its base layer was so moist he could wash his face in it.

            A glint in his peripheral vision made him glance at the captain, who was toying with her fork. He hurried to gesture towards the food. “Please, Captain, don’t wait for me.”

            “Thank you,” Harkov nodded, and pulled the nearest plate full of steak to transfer some to her own plate. She held Hux’s gaze while slicing the meat. “May I inquire as to why you’re overseeing supplies this month? Not that we’re not honoured to have you, of course.”

            “Of course,” Hux repeated mechanically. “Morale is the main reason, Captain.” He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and pondered how much more was appropriate to eat before he attacked the desserts. “The _Finalizer_ is my ship, and I do not wish to disregard my duty towards it because of the Starkiller Project, demanding as it is.”

            He paused for a moment while another thought snuck into his mind. “I would also like to inspect Hangar Six’s control room. Safety measures were implemented under joint supervision with one of my Army men. I would like to personally make sure everything's in order.”

            Harkov did not goggle at him—she did not allow herself to present evidence of surprise or similar emotions—but her shoulders stiffened. Had he gone too far? Projects like Kaplan’s never got attention from him, though he was known to make surprise inspections once in a while.

            “As you wish, sir,” she said, and poured herself more wine. “Your attention to the matter is much appreciated.”

            Hux sniffed and capitulated, pulling the plate with domrai cake. “You do not find Colonel Kaplan’s project invasive? He’s Army personnel, after all.”

            Harkov’s thin smile could slice the cake for him. Her fork wavered and she gave him her classic look that clearly communicated _I have my opinions on the matter, you have your rank, so here we are._

“I’ve been hearing a lot about the improved capabilities of the transparisteel Kuat-Entralla have been producing for their newest vessels,” she said instead. A smart and diplomatic move. “If Colonel Kaplan was so ardent as to volunteer for a project concerning one of our busiest bays, then no effort of his is to be considered invasive.” Her tone was serious, giving him to understand she would’ve thrown Kaplan off the ship with her bare hands if she could.

            The rest of their lunch passed in conversation revolving around minor topics Hux could’ve read about in reports. He allowed himself the luxury of sparing his eyes and getting the information directly from Harkov instead. She was far from eager to oblige him, but his interest in the ship’s wellbeing made him a friendly entity in her eyes.

            When his better judgement reminded him he could not try every dessert on the table even if he wanted to, he cleaned his mouth and stood up to leave.

            “It was a pleasure having lunch with you, Captain,” he said. Harkov smiled at him. He knew his words of praise carried like a badge of honour among those who worked with him, and Harkov was no exception. “I will inspect the hangar now, and attend to the rest afterwards.”

            He looked around the room for a chrono. “Please send Lieutenant Mitaka to my main office when his shift ends.”

            Harkov’s expression changed from pleased and relaxed to attentive and almost aggressive upon Hux’s words. The latter could almost sympathize: General Hux asking after a specific officer did little to bode well for said officer.

            “Is he in trouble?” Harkov asked. She was as protective of her personnel as she was of her own reputation.

            “Absolutely not,” Hux hurried to reassure her. “I would like to hear his opinion on a couple of details about the ship’s defensive weaponry. I’m aware his mother was native to Lianna, but I don’t want him to venture personal information on the bridge.” He had to smile at Harkov in reassurance. “He will be on duty on time and in perfect shape.”

            The lie was poorly crafted but it had to do. Harkov did not appear convinced at all. He had had hoped expressing concern about the comfort of the lieutenant would appease her enough to leave him be. He could, of course, bypass her completely—he was a General and the _Finalizer_ was his ship—but he wanted to avoid pulling rank around Harkov whenever possible. The thought of being in conflict with her made him feel unease.

            “You don’t want to consult a tech instead?” Harkov offered. “Or Kuat-Entralla themselves?”

            Hux heaved a sigh of relief. He could’ve kissed her cheeks from the display of concern for his demand. “The Lieutenant should do. It is, after all, a personal curiosity, not a work-related issue.”

            “I see.” Harkov’s fingertips tapped around the edge of the table. Her eyebrows relaxed and the tension in her lips dissipated. “I’ll comm him myself.”

            They parted and Hux left for Hangar Six. He wasn’t sure how Mitaka’s heart would function after the captain of the ship personally commed him to relay an order from General Hux, and hoped Harkov would give him the details before the poor man fainted.

            He had considered comming Mitaka himself, and quickly dismissed it afterwards. On the off-chance the lieutenant was needed somewhere else he would have to explain he had been summoned by the highest-ranking officer on board, and that would immediately loosen some tongues. All the worse if Harkov was around: she couldn’t, and wouldn’t pester Hux as if she were his mother, but her silence could be just as nagging. She was one of those few completely satisfied with their rank, and Hux had found that demonstrating a modicum of respect for her despite her inferior rank did wonders to secure her cooperation and support. It was best to run the matter through her, and close the circle there. At least she didn’t gossip. 

            After the inspection ( _Not even a shot from a Special Forces TIE fighter could blast through this_ , Kaplan had boasted) he could only retreat to his office and wait.

            He uploaded the small amendment he had drafted and took to reviewing the supplies reports in order to keep his nerves under control.

            It wasn’t like he was desperate to fill the time: there was always plenty of work that came with either Starkiller or the _Finalizer_ ; yet he found himself constantly distracted, at times rereading the same line up to four times just to understand what it was telling him. Unlike the set-up organized by Zina, this apology he had to do all on his own. He rehearsed a number of prepared lines with different intonation, changed the approach at least twice, and found nothing even remotely satisfactory. Mitaka would knock on his door any moment and he was completely unprepared for the situation. It terrified him. Without knowing, he had let this personal thing grow and grow like unnoticed weeds.

            Was Mitaka worth all of his anxiety, a small voice at the back of his head demanded to know. It was the same voice that questioned most of his decisions, and protected him from endangering his life, which was to say, his dedication to the Order.

            On cue, someone requested to enter his office. He brought up the log and saw Mitaka’s name. Security feed showed him dusting off invisible specks from his uniform. Hux let him in and the lieutenant entered, taking off his cap mid-stride as it was his habit when he was worried.

            The moment their eyes met time froze. Hux drank in Mitaka’s countenance as if he was seeing him for the first time. How his regulation hair made him look older, how his chest and arms filled his uniform, threatening to strain the seams if he wasn’t careful. It was a joy to trace the line from his belt to the flares of his breeches, imagining the hips underneath. He had forgotten how good he felt just by being around the lieutenant.

            “Sir,” Mitaka said. His voice was quieter than usual; or had he always been so soft-spoken? “You’ve requested to see me. How can I be of service?”

            Hux coughed to shoo away the fact that he had been staring. “Lieutenant, yes. Please approach, the door doesn’t need you to guard it.”

            He had meant it as a joke, but Mitaka was so tense he jerked forward to obey it as a command. When he clicked his heels he was still rather far from the desk, just in case Hux decided to, for example, jump over and rush to strangle him.

            It only now occurred to him how deeply his outburst had disturbed Mitaka, not to mention the added weeks of radio silence. The guilt and shame over losing his temper made him wince. He took the datapad he had prepared, and circled around the desk to give it to Mitaka.

            “You are familiar with regulation on the matter of reassignment?” he asked while reaching the device towards the lieutenant. When it didn’t explode in his face Mitaka took it and looked at the screen.

            “Yes, sir.”

            “I’ve given myself the liberty to make a miniature amendment.” Hux gestured towards the pad. “Please, take a look.”

            Mitaka did so. His brows furrowed and relaxed a couple of times as he read the highlighted paragraphs. When he finished his eyebrows shot up and he began rereading it. His expression was one of absolute wonder and amazement. He tapped the screen a number of times and looked through additional data. Hux waited.

            Five minutes or so later Mitaka raised his gaze and gave Hux a confused look. Hux had hoped for something more optimistic, but under the circumstances? It was a great start.

            “Sir … I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

            Hux opened his mouth to explain and promptly closed it. His unpreparedness caught up with him in its enormity. How was he to start with this?

            “Mitaka … Dopheld.” He didn’t miss how the lieutenant’s lips parted in surprise. “Dopheld … I owe you an apology. Back on Starkiller I misread the situation and lashed out when you deserved no such treatment. I realize that such misunderstandings will affect you more than me, despite my best attempts to pretend our intimacy does not affect our lives. While I can swear to you nothing like this will ever happen again, I’ve taken the precaution to safeguard your career in case something happens.”

            The small space between Mitaka’s lips widened until he was gaping at Hux with eyes as round as the ion engines. Hux pressed on.

            “If anything happens that may threaten your position on the _Finalizer_ , you are more than ever under the protection of your superior naval officers, before all Captain Harkov.”

            Given Mitaka’s reactions to his words, he decided against the smile he was hoping to cast.

            “She’s overprotective of this crew for her own reasons, but that only works in your favour.”

            The Lieutenant stood like he had grown roots, not a movement but the darting of his gaze between the datapad and Hux. His fingers clutched the device as if it was his only hope to leave the office alive.

            “You … Sir, you … submitted a proposal to amend regulation … for me? Sir?” he whispered. His voice was barely audible, as if something was stuck in his throat. His words came out with great effort. Hux strained to hear him.

            “Yes,” he said when Mitaka paused for a longer time. “It will take some time to become the norm, but I’m confident it won’t be rejected. You may follow its status,” and here Hux hesitated himself, “if you’re interested, of course.”

            “I don’t know what to say, sir,” Mitaka admitted. He continued to press the datapad against his chest as if it was the sole device to guarantee his safety. He looked like he was going to defend it with his life and for a moment Hux considered leaving it to him until he felt safe enough to return it.

            “You don’t have to say anything,” Hux said instead. “In fact, you don’t have to talk to me outside of duty at all. And if you want to…” He paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the vast feeling of longing that was his inseparable companion when on Starkiller. “If you want to permanently break off the private engagement with me, you are free to do so immediately without any threat to your career or person. You deserve as much.”

            Deafening silence filled the space between them. Mitaka’s lips trembled. The datapad was halfway into his chest and next to his heart for safekeeping, Hux was positive.

            “You submitted a proposal … to amend regulation for me,” he repeated with a stupefied expression. His words were better strung together, but his voice remained as soft and meek.

            At a loss, Hux rested his hands in his lap. “Yes. I’m sorry if that’s not enough. I wanted to demonstrate my good will towards you, but couldn’t think of anything without risk of exposure.”

            He was silent for a beat, and then forced himself to meet Mitaka’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Dopheld. My behaviour was unacceptable and you didn’t deserve that. I will accept any decision of yours.”

            Mitaka swallowed. The rising of his chest under the pressure of his hand must’ve reminded him he was still clutching the datapad; he hurried to give it back, with the same reluctance he had accepted it with.

            “May I have some time to think about all this, sir?”

            Hux took the datapad and left it on the desk. Mitaka’s body had filled it with warmth, as if he had given it some of his own life from pressing it so firmly against his chest. “All the time you need,” he said.

            The lieutenant coughed and nodded. He made a valiant effort of putting himself back in order. His cap had suffered some minor crumpling. The datapad had taken the worst of his nervousness.

            “May I see you again, in private, sir? I know you’re here only briefly so only if you can spare the time, of course.”

            Hux glanced at the chrono on the wall. “There are some other matters to attend to, but I will be free in the second half of the Cresh shift. How about an hour before its end?”

            Mitaka’s face lit up with something Hux was hoping to be a positive feeling, even if he couldn’t identify it at the moment.

            “Yes, sir, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

            “I’ll be in my quarters,” Hux informed him.

            Mitaka saluted, but his hand had barely reached his cap when his expression became worried again. “May I com you to check if you’re still available, sir?” he asked.

            Hux wanted for nothing but to take that face between his palms and cover it with kisses, salute pose, cap, and everything. He reined in the sudden outburst of desire.

            “Very kind of you, Lieutenant. Feel free to do so,” he said. Mitaka gave a small nod. “And please reassure Captain Harkov I have not eaten any vital organ of yours. If she asks, tell her I wanted to know more about the _Finalizer_ ’s defensive weaponry and your opinion on it as someone better acquainted with Sienar engineering.”

            Mitaka dared answer with a small smile, and left him at that. There was little to do about him now, Hux reflected while going back to work, and plenty to do for the Order. Work was a better occupation than worrying: he certainly preferred it over staring at random objects and being idle. Work he liked; hope he had to endure.

            He understood that he had overwhelmed the man after the weeks of silence. It was a miracle that Mitaka had asked for less than a day to consider it all. Hux had the feeling Mitaka had already taken the decision, and the time to their next meeting was to be dedicated to reviewing and consideration.

            That thought made him anxious to know the answer. Both outcomes were equally possible. If Mitaka decided to break it off with him he had to be gracious and accept it. He had given a promise and he intended to keep it, though it was unclear how his psyche was going to take the blow. His psyche and his pride, a tiny voice whispered, but he squelched it before it had made its argument.

            The main problem was that he didn’t _want_ to. He wanted Mitaka to forgive him, and thought he could wait as long as that took, weeks or months. He also wanted to know that sometime in the foreseeable future he could claim that small mouth and drink its whines and whimpers; take that strong hand and lead it to his skin where it would leave blue and purple bruises claiming him as _property_.

            He pressed the screen of the datapad to his lips. It was cooling fast, but some of Mitaka’s warmth still lingered upon it like an invisible field. Was that how the Force felt to the Supreme Leader, his apprentice, and even the famed Luke Skywalker? Hux cared little for such mysterious powers, but the thought of having to wait so long before he knew his fate tended to scatter all others.


	11. 9

            At the beginning of the Cresh shift he took most the work he wanted to finish and send to Harkov, and moved to the office in his quarters. Accustomed to Starkiller’s distances and pacing at the speed of mouse droids under orders, he all but ran past his door and had to go back a pace or two.

            Everything inside was as he had left it, dust and other signs of abandonment removed by his hospitality droid. For a moment he was tempted to shed his uniform and roll in the bed in a desperate attempt to remember what it felt like to be able to sleep sometimes. Being back on the ship sharpened his ache and pressed it harder into his chest.

            Memories of kisses in the dark and gasping breaths amidst the prattle of the shower assaulted him like he was right there in the moment again. He dropped into one of the chairs he normally offered to visitors. Every passing second stoked his desire for Mitaka to forgive him, to ease the restoration of what they once had, or at least make it a base to build anew.

            It had been a good decision to be a polite host and opt for something comfortable to offer to visitors. At the time he had been more invested in the power imbalance between the two sides of the desk. It was an interesting situation observed from the side, to sit in the comfortable chair chosen by his common sense.

            He pulled out the datapads and worked from that seat until his comlink beeped.

            “Hux,” he barked out of habit.

            “I’ll be with you within half an hour, sir, if you’re still available?” Mitaka’s voice asked. It was hushed and even more deafened by the background clamour. It seemed he was moving through a busy corridor, possibly the main one that led to the turbolifts giving access to the higher-ranking officers’ habitation area.

            “Yes! Yes, I’m in my quarters.” Hux’s voice sounded sluggish in comparison. He had to glance at the datapads in his lap to make sure he hadn’t dozed off and only dreamt of working. There was enough time to wash his face and get rid of the flush while his rekindled anticipation worked up his insides and limbs.

             He barely had the time to dry when the chime announced a visitor. Hux opened the door without even checking with the log or security. His hesitation spiked for a moment, but the door was already opening and there stood the familiar bulk of Mitaka’s body. He strode in and while the door was closing they stood rooted, watching each other.

            Hux gestured towards the sofa. “Unless you are in a hurry, I suggest we seat ourselves there. This is a private meeting after all—no need for the desk, I hope.”

            To his pleasant surprise Mitaka didn’t bring up the cap to his chest but accepted the invitation with a nod and a smile, after which he followed Hux to the small caf table and the sofa. Hux liked the dual nature of this antechamber office: it was an efficient and elegant use of space, and he often did work on the sofa when he felt well enough. Now, he had chosen it as the place of judgement.

            He made sure to respect Mitaka’s personal space and seated himself a little away from him, but close enough to eliminate the danger of either raising their voice to carry the conversation. He would scoot closer if there was an emergency like the need to hold hands or rub shoulders.

            Mitaka placed his cap in his lap and turned to Hux. “I can’t believe you suggested a regulation amendment for me, sir” he said in the same soft voice from a couple of hours ago. “It’s unbelievable.”

            Hux couldn’t help but smile at that. “What else could I do? While your safety was in mind when I drafted it, I’m sure lots of officers will benefit from it in time.”

            “You’re not worried it may be refused, say on the basis of shifting power down the hierarchy?” Mitaka asked. His upper body leaned somewhat towards Hux. The latter could smell the dampness of Mitaka’s hair and the hint of standard issue soap supplied to the _Finalizer_. It was a smell he had learned to associate with intimacy—Mitaka was impeccable at all other times—and it pained him to be so close to something he may not be allowed to have ever again.

            “There are always a dozen possible objections,” he admitted. “The efficiency of the military comes from one’s ability to focus on one’s superior officer’s commands. What I’m trying to implement is a line to strengthen and underline authority, not break it down and shift power from High Command to the freshly enlisted. While you still have to obey orders from me, Harkov’s word will weigh a lot more in case you were to be reassigned, for example. You are a competent officer and I know she’d rather chew on the ship’s hull than let you go.”

            Mitaka chuckled at that. After years of listening to Phasma’s, Hux was finally getting the hang of making his own ridiculous comparisons. Out of habit his hand rose to caress Mitaka’s face and push his chin up. He caught himself in time and redirected himself to straighten the flaps of his tunic. His chest ached to be so far away from Mitaka when both of them had the time and seclusion to be much closer.

            Silence fell between them once again, oppressive and heavy. Hux remembered the long silences in the dark months ago when he had still been on the _Finalizer_ : their breathing and the constant hum of machinery the only noise as Mitaka held him against his chest, their bodies wrapped in darkness and comfort. There had been many such instances of comforting silence for Hux and he had valued them, even if he cherished the nights when he slept alone.

            The current silence was nothing like that. It stood between them like a wall and drove away any thought of closing the distance.

            “Was there something specific you had in mind for this visit?” he asked in his calmest, most gentle tone. Mitaka was startled nonetheless, having sunk in his own thoughts.

            “I—yes, sir.” Mitaka seemed like he wanted to continue, but no words came out of his mouth. He gave Hux an apologetic look. “Words,” he said.

Hux understood. He put all of his focus onto being patient, even if he waited with bated breath.

            “I wanted to tell you it’s alright,” Mitaka said at last.

            “Alright?”

            “Yes, sir, you don’t have to apologize or…”

            Hux reached out and put his hand on Mitaka’s knee. The lieutenant shivered but did not move away, only looked more distressed for a second. Hux retracted the offending limb and let it fall on the sofa between them.

            “Lieutenant, there is _every_ need for me to apologize,” he insisted. Somehow his voice had gone as soft as Mitaka’s. “I should’ve done it sooner. Weeks sooner. I shouldn’t have yelled and accused you, and … I apologize, and I am sorry. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I will do it. All you have to do is ask.”

            Mitaka looked at him with his big, dark eyes, as if he were ready to burst into tears or run away. Or both.

            “You don’t have to forgive me if you cannot do so. I will understand. But an apology was owed nonetheless, and know, that it is heartfelt.”

            One of Mitaka’s hands trembled. With great hesitation, he slid it down and put it on Hux’s. Even through their gloves, Hux could feel the same warmth Mitaka had given to the datapad earlier.

            “Sir, I accept your apology and I forgive you, I think. But…” His fingers twitched and his words trailed off. “Permission to speak freely?”

            “Of course.” Hux breathed rather than said. He dared close some of the distance between them. To his joy, the lieutenant did not retreat or pull away his hand. Instead, he laughed.

            “See? This is … every time we are together, under any circumstances, I feel our difference in rank. The _Finalizer_ is your ship and I am very much under your command, Captain Harkov notwithstanding.” He paused for a moment to moisten his lips. The grip he had on Hux’s hand was growing firmer.

            “I adore being with you, and sleeping with you, I truly do. I love seeing you aroused and pleased, but some part of me at the back of my mind is always mindful not to displease you precisely because of this difference between us.”

            Hux’s dread was growing like a slime parasite infesting his chest, eating away at his ability to feel anything positive. He leeched off Mitaka’s warmth through their hands and prepared to be rejected.

            “I don’t want you to try putting yourself in my position, it will do no good, but I think it’s fair for you to know all of this, and be patient when I’m … skittish.” Mitaka allowed himself a smile at the word. “Sir, we try to have something on our own, completely separate from what we do, but I think we’re not very good at it. Serving the Order and acting upon the demands of our ranks is who we are as people, and at the end of the day we take those ranks to bed regardless if we want to or not.”

            “Very wise words.”

Hux wondered for how long all of this had weighed on Mitaka’s chest. Even the mere accusation that someone as high-ranking as Hux was not naturally good at something probably cost him ten years of his life to say out loud. The strength of bonds in the First Order was encouraged only within the limits of one’s team. His attachment to Mitaka felt like a thread of shimmersilk stretched over ranks and space, so delicate and easy to snap at the first trial that strained it.

            “I will be as patient as my character allows me,” he promised. ‘If that is not enough, you are free—and encouraged— to ask for more. I insist.”

            Mitaka smiled at him. It wasn’t the beaming smile of joy and excitement he kept for Hux: it was tired and small, but hopeful.

            “Thank you, sir. What you said and the amendment proposal… It means a lot to me.”

            They looked at each other while their fingers found their way around leather and hold, and laced together. The silence was bearable even if it still weighed on Hux’s shoulders. He didn’t dare ask for a clearer answer, but was positive he could do it if he grew desperate.

            A chime announced five minutes to the end of the Cresh shift and the turn of the cycle for the ship. Mitaka jumped off the sofa like it had bitten him.

            ‘Sir!” He bowed to grab his cap that had fallen on the floor in his distress. “I didn’t mean to take so long! You said you had to go and I sat here rambling.”

            Hux rose from the sofa, feeling like the piece of furniture had swallowed half of him. “The bay with my shuttle is a turbolift ride and a stride away from my quarters.” That was a massive exaggeration, but a small matter under the circumstances. He went around the table to see Mitaka to the door. “No one can go after me tapping at a chrono with a displeased expression. When I decide, my time is your time as well. This was an important conversation for both of us, I think.”

            The corners of Mitaka’s lips trembled and he smiled at Hux with warmth. A blush was spreading over his cheeks: Hux could kiss him senseless.

            “Sir?” Mitaka stopped just outside the range of the sensors and turned his head to face Hux. This close he had to raise his chin if he wanted to compensate for the height difference and make eye contact. “I like it when you touch my hair.” His confidence failed him: he bowed his head to stare at his feet. “And when you … hold me in your arms. You’ve asked me a number of times but I could never tell you, because … well…”

            Hux punched the door panel to lock it before the sensors registered their presence and hissed it open. His head was spinning with the violence of tossing and turning from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. It felt like he was in a vessel with a coughing hyperdrive engine that spat them in and out of hyperspace in rapid succession. With his other hand he reached to lift Mitaka’s chin and restore eye contact.

            “That is indispensable information for your boots, I’m sure,” he whispered, and bowed his head to kiss him.

            Something broke and fell away from them like a demolished building. It must’ve taken out Mitaka’s support as well because he rather melted against Hux, and the latter had to wrap his arms around the lieutenant’s shoulders to keep him from falling. The wall was gone, the silence was gone, and the free space between them evaporated as they pressed against each other.

            Mitaka could barely keep his lips on the task: his breathing had turned into quiet moans, of relief, or pleasure, or both, which Hux drank like a man dying of thirst. Only barely could he keep his own body from crumpling to the ground in a heap of limbs and relief.

            He groaned in gratitude when Mitaka bit his bottom lip and worried it between his teeth. They hit the wall next to the door. Mitaka’s body jerked when durasteel met his spine and forced it to straighten from the pressure. His chest pushed out and his rank cylinders pressed into Hux’s body with familiar pain.

            He shoved his fingers into the hair on the back of Mitaka’s head and pulled. His glove denied him the details of sensation, but the lieutenant let out a moan that more than made up for it.

            “Too much?” Hux rasped, immediately apprehensive of swinging in the other direction and overdoing it.

            “No, I love it.” Mitaka’s eyes fluttered open. “Sir, it’s the Aurek shift… I don’t want to cause you to be late.”

            Hux forced himself to pull his face away from Mitaka’s and look at him. The rush of adrenaline the kiss had unleashed in his body was coursing through his blood and threatened to make him take an impulsive act.

            “Do you have anything to attend to before your next shift?” he asked.

            “No, I sleep during Aurek.”

            Hux fished out his comlink and called Harkov.

            “Captain,” he said. He tried to rein in his voice: filework didn’t exactly leave one gasping for breath. “There is a task that requires my attention I would rather finish here than split with a trip to base. I’ll depart for Starkiller at the beginning of the Besh shift.” And without even bothering to wait for an answer, he quit the call and shoved the comlink back into his pocket. He thought about throwing it away, but that would’ve been unnecessarily dramatic.

            He looked back at Mitaka, who was goggling at him. “Will you sleep with me?”

            Mitaka’s jaw dropped, but his surprise lasted only a second. “I’ll make up for all those months apart in one go, if you let me,” he promised.

            It was Hux’s turn to scramble after his jaw. He had meant literal sleep, or at least an attempt: touching, hugging, light kisses and gentle caresses in the darkness of the bedroom. If Mitaka was ready to go straight to sex, he would bend over on the desk to make it happen faster.

            “Bold,” he managed to comment, and sank his teeth into that pretty mouth.

            Taking off their boots was always the worst, but once disposed of, the rest was easy enough. With every article of clothing folded away his desire grew stronger. Mitaka seemed to be in a similar state of mind. Their tunics were barely hung on the chairs when their feet began shuffling towards the bedroom. Mitaka practically threw Hux on the bed and climbed on top of him to prevent him from moving.

            “I missed you,” he whimpered, kissing the crook between Hux’s neck and shoulders with a passion and desire Hux had never felt from him before, or had forgotten after months of solitude on Starkiller. “I’ve missed everything about you.” His hand found Hux’s hip and squeezed.

            The pain was exquisite. Hux was so hard part of him wanted to give in and grind against Mitaka for a swift and merciful orgasm. He moaned in Mitaka’s ear and buried his bared fingers in the locks of dark hair. It felt good not to have to fight the regulation-required grease that stuck to his fingers and took away so much from the experience. He revelled in the thick wavy locks that could swallow his hand when given free reign.

            “I need to sonic,” he murmured in Mitaka’s ear and bit the earlobe with affection. Mitaka grunted in agreement. He wrapped Hux’s legs around his waist and shoved his arms under his back. Hux’s hands on Mitaka’s shoulders tensed.

            “Dopheld, what—“

            “Hold on.”

            Mitaka hauled him off the bed and spun around as if he was carrying a sack of clothes. Hux clung to him to prevent himself from splitting their weight and dragging them both to the floor.

            “Dopheld,” he cried out. He had to convince himself his voice had been scandalized and not … high-pitched and intimidated. “Stars, what are you _doing_? I can walk on my own.”

            “Trying to impress you?” Mitaka laughed. He readjusted his grip on Hux who eased himself down so he could clear Mitaka’s field of vision. The lieutenant’s face turned sober. “Sir, I’m not Captain Phasma, but I hope I’ll do.”

            Hux bowed his head to hide the mixture of emotions bubbling up and showing on his face. “There cannot be a comparison between you. My relationship with each of you is … different.” He managed to look at Mitaka, but hesitated. His heart was beating very fast, like the times he had to reveal information previously guarded close to his chest. In many ways that was exactly what he was about to do. He reminded himself Mitaka was someone he trusted—with everything.

            “I cherish you,” he said, and placed a small kiss on Mitaka’s jaw. “You don’t have to impress me every time we see each other in private.”

            Mitaka’s arms shook. For a second Hux thought this would be the moment to fall on the floor, but Mitaka only held him tighter. “I’ll keep it in mind, sir,” he murmured and resumed walking towards the refresher.

            “You don’t have to address me as sir, too.”

            “Oh, I rather like it, if you don’t mind,” Mitaka chuckled. He checked that the door frame wouldn’t clip any of their limbs, and stepped in. “Short and sweet,” he added while letting Hux down.

            The tile was cold under his toes and it sent shivers and raised hairs up his legs. He had never thought of that address as something to be liked: observation of protocol, yes, habit with time, but affection? Did he feel the same the few times they had spoken on the bridge, before and after their relationship had begun?

            They had to stand apart (sonic or not, Mitaka snuck after him and peppered his shoulders with kisses) for the sonic to do its best, but could not help the languid kisses every few moments. The casing of pomade on Hux’s hair dissolved into dust and was blown away. Ticklish sensations ran through his scalp as his hair rose and took to its natural ways. He didn’t know what it looked like on him, but had often seen Mitaka’s, and that was never _not_ an amusing sight. He ran his hand through his hair to shake off the last of the dust.

            Before he could let it fall down Mitaka took it, and pulled him in for another kiss.

            The sensory input was amazing. He let his senses bask in the opulence and take over conscious thought. Every exposed bit of skin was bombarded with the ministrations of the sonic, but his chest was pressed against Mitaka’s. It was pure joy to feel it again. When they showered the slickness of running water made their cocks slide against their bellies—a most welcomed feeling. Now, there was the shared warmth of their skin, and a growing tenderness that slowed down their initial rush to a mild impatience at best; an anticipation they savoured best by prolonging the play.

            Above all: Mitaka’s gentle lips, tasting him like he was something holy and could only be taken in small amounts at a time. The flick of tongue against his mouth to moisten it and maintain the level of arousal that could be made to wait, but not too much. The fingers digging into his abdomen and hips, reminding him of the brute force Mitaka would use upon him very soon. It made him ache. His cock tensed at the base and pressed against Mitaka’s path of neatly trimmed black hairs that divided his abdomen. The prickling made him shiver.

            “Months,” he whispered against Mitaka’s lips.

            “Sacrilege.”

            They chuckled in unison.

            “I’ll fetch the bacta,” Hux said and stepped out from the sonic to turn it off. Mitaka patted his thigh while passing him on his way to the bedroom. Hux rummaged around for the bacta a lot faster than he had intended to, leaving the first aid kit in a small disarray he vowed to clean up … after. It had been a while since he used bacta for his own “shaving incident”.

            When he entered the bedroom Mitaka had put the pillows against the head of the bed and was leaning against them with legs stretched out in front of him. If it weren’t for his impressive erection resting against his abdomen he looked like he was ready to take a nap. Hux used the opportunity to straddle his chest and press the bacta into his hand while dangling his own cock in front of Mitaka’s face. He wouldn’t say no to that little mouth kissing and teasing the slit.

            Mitaka knew him too well. He pushed himself up and wrapped an arm around Hux’s waist to keep him in place. He licked and kissed the ginger hairs around Hux’s cock, leaving them in swirls of disarray in the wake of his tongue; the burning hotness of its surface left chills as the saliva evaporated. Hux was getting his wish granted without voicing it: a regular occurrence with Mitaka that he had missed more than anything.

            He remembered what had Mitaka told him at the door and bent to run his fingers through the wavy locks of hair, now dry and messy. If Mitaka liked it, it was _exhilarating_ for Hux. The thick strands parted with reluctance upon the pressure exercised upon them, and wrapped around his fingers as if to take his hand hostage. His gripped and pulled; Mitaka’s growl joined his as each felt the shocks of pleasure course through them.

            Mitaka slid down and pushed at Hux’s thigh to make him spread his legs further and lower his body. His hot breaths so close to his cock made Hux shiver and tense with anticipation of what was so soon to follow. He pulled Mitaka’s hair again but with little success.

            “Sir, do you remember on your birthday,” he began while spreading the bacta all over his fingers, “I said I’d suck your cock, and never got to it.”

            Hux was perplexed for a moment. “That was so long ago. And you did it the next tim _hhh_ —“ His sentence was garbled in a groan when Mitaka lead the tip of his cock into his mouth and bathed it with saliva and attention.

            “I won’t stop you if you so insist to make amends,” Hux breathed and tried to shuffle closer, push deeper into that warm slick mouth, feel the edges of the teeth that threatened the skin with little more than their touch.

            Mitaka hummed in what sounded like triumph and opened his mouth further to swallow him. Hux’s hips snapped forward to shove him in. He had to let go of Mitaka’s hair and leaned his forearms on the wall to support himself. His knees were planted into the bed at an angle well enough to keep him steady while thrusting, even if his legs felt weak. From that point, Mitaka’s face—his handsome, perfect, lovely face, Hux reflected while he watched his cock sink into Mitaka’s mouth—looked even better. Stars, he _loved_ to watch Mitaka blow him.

            Another smug hum, and Mitaka patted Hux’s ass to encourage his thrusting, or so he thought. The fingers were cold and slimy, and slid to the side and towards his rim.

            “Oh no,” he murmured. Mitaka’s eyes shot up to look at him in question as his mouth was otherwise preoccupied. Hux all but keened. “Mitaka, that won’t be fair.”

            The fingers found the tight muscle and one spread bacta all over it with gentle circling motions while the other caressed the skin around it. “That’s very…” Hux tried again and failed as the first finger found its way into him. Instinctively he squeezed it, but his hips were on a different opinion and pushed back to take more. “I…” he gave up as the finger pushed deep enough to touch his prostate and massage it. It sent shivers up his spine, and a promise for a deeper, solid pleasure if the attention continued.

            “That is cruel,” he gasped a couple of minutes later. Mitaka was pushing his fingers forward, shortening the distance; Hux’s initial swings turned to manic thrusting. He could feel his orgasm building, close but elusive, especially after so many months of half-successful masturbation attempts on Starkiller Base. At some point he had leaned his forehead against the wall while watching Mitaka take the swing of his hips; the cold touch of durasteel helped him concentrate.

            And then Mitaka curved his fingers to press against his prostate while at the same time sucking on the slit of his cock. The combined effect nearly tipped him over. He let out a small cry, more from the surprise than anything else.

            “Dopheld,” he stuttered. His back arched on his own in anticipation of his orgasm, his balls tight enough and on the brink of emptying their load into Mitaka’s more than welcoming throat. “Not yet, not while, I—“

            He could barely string words together into coherent speech. To his relief, Mitaka took pity on him and withdrew both fingers and mouth with utmost care. Bacta dribbled down Hux’s perineum and made him shift from the tickling sensation. On the other side, thick strings of saliva stretched between his cock and Mitaka’s reddened lips. Some of them snapped under the stretch and splattered over Mitaka’s chest and chin.

            Mitaka caressed Hux’s thigh. “Something wrong, sir?” Hux noticed he was panting; the hot breaths were a tease, but not too much.

            “Not at all,” he managed to say. He slid down and sat back on his haunches, careful not to put his weight onto Mitaka’s belly. “Let’s do this again sometime? It’s… It’s an experience.”

            He felt profoundly silly over the word choice. Mitaka beamed at him.

            “Thought you might like it.” A vast understatement, Hux thought. He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Mitaka’s mouth, where he knew the lieutenant was rather vulnerable to teasing.

            “I like it very much,” he murmured.

            Mitaka turned his head to the side. His lips brushed against Hux’s, but he did not initiate a kiss. “And now?” he asked. His clean hand was running up and down Hux’s forearm in gentle, unhurried motions.

            “I have to make it explicit?” Hux exclaimed in faked awe.

            “You know me.” Mitaka’s hand reached up to Hux’s shoulder and pulled him forward into a rather awkward hug, but Hux’s spine could bend enough to go with it. “I like it when you tell me what to do,” he whispered in Hux’s ear.

            Hux planted his hands on Mitaka’s sides and lifted his pelvis to drag the tip of his cock over Mitaka’s body. All that muscle and power ready for him. He took hold of Mitaka’s chin and turned his head until their eyes met.

            “Fuck me,” he demanded, and kissed Mitaka’s lips. “Please?” It was an addition made in mockery, but his voice was breathy and quiet, making it ambiguous whether the word was spoken in jest or as a true plea. Hux decided he didn’t want to fix that.

            Mitaka laid him back with all the gentleness of the world. He made sure the position was comfortable and Hux’s legs had enough space to stretch and kick should he decide to do so.

            It struck him as uncanny, how this mass of muscle and so much raw power and potential for violence was capable of such precise and gentle motions. All officers were required to have good aim and a steady hand, but this was something different. Mitaka could press his hand against Hux’s windpipe and crush it like a straw, but was instead touching and kissing him with the reverence and care one typically exercised towards holy objects.

            He knew, of course, that sex and other physical contact would be gentle. A couple of times both of them had forgotten about pain and humiliation in favour of a quick fix and the rest of the time dedicated to sleep. Hux didn’t mind at all that there was someone to put up with his cold feet and was not only willing, but glad to give him their body heat. Phasma, too, had been gentle with him, though a lot of that gentleness was directed towards his person, and not so much to the flesh he embodied.

            “This is different,” he murmured while Mitaka was lining up his cock against Hux’s rim. He spread his legs and lifted his pelvis to make the penetration easier.

            Mitaka did not lose focus on the task at hand, but hesitated before replying. “Sir, I will not ram my cock into your ass while yelling that I missed you.” He held his breath. Hux concentrated on his breaths instead, while the hard length slid into him, stretching the muscle. They didn’t talk for a couple of minutes while Mitaka did the usual rocking back and forth until Hux relaxed enough to take more and enjoy himself.

            “Why not?” Hux asked when he adjusted the grip of his legs around Mitaka’s waist to keep them from bouncing around. He placed his hands on Mitaka’s chest as if looking for a shirt to pull. Mitaka understood. He lowered his torso and gave Hux a strong push with his hips. Hux closed his eyes and bared his throat, moaning. He missed this initial throb where the discomfort was still there, only not so much discomfort as promises of pleasure, little sparks that signalled his body was ready for more.

            “Uh.” He wasn’t sure if that was Mitaka’s grunt of pleasure, or a loss of words. “I … I don’t know, sir. Do you want me to do it next time?”

            “If the mood allows for it? I’ve always encouraged your displays of dominance. A little flattery won’t ruin it.”

            Mitaka peppered his jawline with kisses. His warm exhales tickled Hux’s ear and sent the small hairs around it flying and tickling even more. He shrugged one shoulder to rub and scratch at the offended skin, but Mitaka kissed it away before he could reach anything. His quiet laughter of amusement dropped a ball of warmth on Hux’s chest.

            “Forgive the remark, but it never fails to amaze me how much you enjoy that. It doesn’t come naturally to me.” He paused for a second while studying Hux’s face with intense focus. “That aside … sometimes it’s just different. Like now.”

            “I noticed,” Hux said. “Usually by now you are ready to demonstrate some strength and hurt me.”

            Mitaka laughed. “You’re also not clawing at my back demanding that I do,” he observed.

            Hux stared at him, at the smile. Truly, he didn’t remember a time when things between them in bed (or on his office desk that one memorable time) hadn’t been heated. Even now, he wanted Mitaka to go faster, kiss him harder, but that desire was somehow muted by the quiet joy of simply being with Mitaka, wrapped and pressed under the security of his embrace. He sought Mitaka’s gaze for an explanation.

            “See?” Mitaka beamed at him. He caressed Hux’s shoulder. His fingers slid down to his chest, abdomen, the base of his cock and the cool skin of his balls. “Cosy?” he asked while dragging the fingers back and wrapping them one by one around the base of Hux’s cock.

            “Very,” Hux said. It felt very right in that moment to raise his head and plant a kiss on Mitaka’s cheek.

            Phasma’s forgiveness meant ripped, bloody flesh, and violence, which he understood perfectly, and was furthermore glad to submit to. Mitaka’s forgiveness was … this. Gentle touches and soft-spoken words while their bodies pressed together, moved together for no other reason but the joy of it. He could barely cope.

            A new rush of adrenaline filled his body with renewed energy. He wrapped his arms around Mitaka’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. His fingers found the locks of hair and he buried them as deep as the angle allowed him to. Mitaka let out a gasp of surprise against his lips but hurried to renew the kiss. The languid motions of his hips sped up and sent surges of pleasure through Hux’s entire body.

            “I’ve missed you too,” Hux whispered between kisses. He could feel his own heartbeat at random spots in his body and wondered if Mitaka could feel it as well. How long had it been since he felt that unexplainable coil of emotions in his chest that lent themselves to no other description but positive and solid? All his worries were crumbling to dust under Mitaka’s gentle ministrations.

            Mitaka chuckled. “You’ll spoil me,” he warned. He planted an almost harsh (and Hux daren’t think _loving_ ) kiss on Hux’s cheek.

            They let the pace get to their heads while touching and caressing each other, rediscovering all the little things forgotten in the months of separation. Mitaka, Hux discovered, made the most endearing little moans and whimpers when his hair was pulled; he hurried to make the most out of that. The adrenaline was tempting him to do all kinds of things. He couldn’t suppress the bubbling laughter that escaped in embarrassing chuckles, every now and then interrupted by gasps from a well-aimed thrust of Mitaka’s hips.

            He pulled at Mitaka’s hair to get an ear closer to his mouth. “I’m close.”

            As if he had burned him, Mitaka pulled back and propped himself up. Hux stared at him in shock when his arms were forced to break their hold and fall to the sides. He clawed with his fingertips over Mitaka’s chest in attempt to grab onto something and pull him back.

            “Are you leaving?” he asked, incredulous.

            “I want to look at you while you come,” Mitaka explained. “You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but… It’s been a while.”

            Hux closed his eyes. His cheeks burned with a heat that had little to do with the rocking rhythms of their bodies. It had been a while, since someone gave him their admiration so freely. Mitaka always insisted it was the truth and not just compliments, but it was a new type of truth Hux was not entirely used to. He licked his lips and looked at Mitaka with hooded eyes.

            Mitaka tilted his head as if to point at Hux’s actions as proof of his argument— _there, you see_? He was breathing hard and trying to meld together the languid roll of hips with the intensity of feeling brought by the much faster tempo. His hand was working on Hux’s cock: a firm hold, fast strokes that added to the mounting pleasure in increasing waves. Hux’s eyes fluttered shut.

            “Dopheld,” he moaned.

            He held onto Mitaka’s forearm while his orgasm reached its peak. Waves of pleasure washed over him as come shot out of his cock and coated his belly, chest, and dribbled onto Mitaka’s hand. It only grew better from there, as Mitaka’s cock thrust into him; he moaned again, arching his back and gripping at Mitaka’s arm with one hand, and the sheets with the other. The bone and muscles, strained under the pressure of keeping up the lieutenant’s weight, felt like a durasteel bar he couldn’t even close his fingers around.

            Mitaka slammed his hips against Hux’s ass and the sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud enough to echo around the room.

            “Sir,” he warned.

            Hux could feel the cock inside him harden in anticipation of Mitaka’s own orgasm. “Yes,” he breathed out, “Yes, yes, yes, Dopheld—“

            Mitaka managed a dozen or so thrusts before every muscle in his body tensed and he shut his eyes. Hux was beginning to reel in blissful afterglow when Mitaka’s next thrust was so hard it pushed him up the bed. He held on tighter, his grip on Mitaka growing almost vicious as his brain could not exactly cooperate in precision.

            One last thrust and Mitaka froze, back arched to push his hips and cock as deep into Hux as he could. He shuddered and sighed. His eyes were closed but not screwed, and he was breathing heavily.

Hux pulled at him with one hand and Mitaka allowed himself to be pulled down. They lay in a heap of limbs while their lungs strained to regain their usual rhythm. When the afterglow began to dim it took with it the euphoria and the desire to move at all, but left at least the gentle warmth and the pleasure of being together.

            “I … did not expect such a turn of events when I came into your office earlier today,” Mitaka murmured against Hux’s neck after some time.

            Hux winced. He didn’t want to think what Mitaka had expected instead. “You should come into my office more often, and then put the results into a statistic,” he offered. Mitaka’s huff could’ve been one of amusement, or so he hoped.

            His cock slid out and Hux felt the familiar trickle of come and bacta. He never grew to like it, but with time managed to tolerate it at least. He let go of Mitaka’s waist and pushed him over to his side where he could wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him from sliding down.

            “Oh!” Mitaka murmured, but dragged one of Hux’s legs between his. He rested his arm on Hux’s chest and made himself comfortable. Hux thought the lieutenant’s embrace was tighter than usual, but it had been months: he might’ve simply forgotten it.

“Sir, this … thank you.”

            Hux rocked him gently. “You’ve never thanked me for cuddling, don’t start now,” Hux said, rather taken aback. “I enjoy it, too.” He ruffled Mitaka’s hair to demonstrate his good will.

            Mitaka burst into embarrassed laughter and hid his face in Hux’s shoulder. Hux was glad for it: even if they had calmed down, his cheeks still felt hot. There was a rare tenderness in his chest, or at least something that approximated such a feeling, for he had no idea what else to call it. Despite already holding Mitaka, he wanted to pull him closer, make him laugh more, even take another impulsive decision. The weight of Mitaka’s body made him feel at ease again, and there was a new feeling he had to examine for a couple of moments before he realized it was pride: at no other time had he been the one to assume such a dominant post-coital position while Mitaka snuggled up to him. He rather liked it this way.

            There was another long stretch of time during which they didn’t talk. Hux burned into his mind every little detail about Mitaka’s appearance: the curve of a thick lock hanging over his eyebrow; the perfect symmetry of his back muscles; his relaxed, boyish smile that made him look so much younger. Twenty years from now all of them would be old and weary with lines of worry and duty carved into their faces, but Mitaka? Still putting cadets to shame.

            Mitaka’s fingers were tracing lines and patterns over Hux’s chest and abdomen. “You’ve lost weight,” he said, a little quieter again. He rubbed his thumb over the jutting bone of Hux’s hip.

            “An insignificant sacrifice when one works on the Starkiller project,” Hux pointed out. Now that balance had been restored between him, Phasma, and Mitaka, he already felt motivated to keep better track of his wellbeing, with the added reason that it would benefit the overall care for the base, too.

            “One of the droids in the medbay on base is one short-circuit away from assigning itself to me and trailing me day and night to ensure I’m healthy, in fact,” he added.

            “A fellow concerned entity, I see,” Mitaka murmured. Hux dipped his chin to look at him but from that point he could only see the mess of Mitaka’s hair and the bridge of his nose.

            “Do you worry about me?” The surprise in his voice was poorly hidden, but he barely tried. He knew that many junior officers relied on their COs to stay alive in order to keep the balance of military hierarchy; otherwise plain chaos would erupt. To imagine _Mitaka_ worrying about him, even if they were lovers, was hard, to say the least.

            Mitaka raised his head to look at him. The cheek that had not been pressed against Hux’s torso began turning pink again. “Most of the time I just hope you’re doing well.” He furrowed his brows and bit his lip. “I admire your dedication, but worry that it’s at the expense of your health, I think. I don’t want our relationship to interfere with duty, but I also want to … well, be with you. Like this,” he finished lamely and blushed. “This hardly makes any sens—“

            “I think about you too,” Hux said before he could stop himself. Mitaka’s body stiffened and they stared at each other for a fraction of a moment before the lieutenant looked down again as if they hadn’t made eye contact at all. Hux tried not to feel discouraged by such a reaction.

            Part of him was shocked at such open admission. The other part, the majority of his reasoning, argued that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. After all, the few times he could be completely frank were when he was with Mitaka. If Mitaka himself was the subject, then so be it.

            “I truly do, and … I am never sure how to express it. You give me strength to carry out my duty to the Order—to all of us—with the finesse and dedication expected from my rank and person. It weighs on me to break the rules, but I feel safe knowing you’re a good officer with sound priorities and the strength required to keep it a secret. Even if our daily lives trickle between us into bed, I sleep well knowing nothing will come out.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wished I could be the only other thing besides duty you have in your life.”

            His heart began to hammer in his chest. The realisation of what he had just said caught him as he was closing his mouth around the last words, but it was too late to take back anything. His body tensed and the arm around Mitaka’s shoulders shook. He began surveying the room for possible exits, possible ways to escape or negate his words.

            Mitaka shot up and their eyes met. His cheeks were uneven shades of red, one pink with a healthy blush, the other red from being plastered against Hux’s body. Hux felt the familiar shocks of panic ran through his limbs. His fists were already clenching and it would take too long to push Mitaka off and—

            “Why don’t you ask me?”

            _What_ , Hux nearly asked. He stared at Mitaka. He was … he did not appear shocked or scared? His brows were furrowed, true, but the line they formed was one of intensity and concentration, rather than anything else. Had he been after a confession? But no, he had … he had asked Hux a very specific question.

            “That would be an absurd thing to ask for, under any circumstances.” He didn’t like building his arguments on the go, but he did not want Mitaka to see him hesitate, either. “What we’re doing is a violation of the rules of the Order in the first place, not to mention my already close relationship with Captain Phasma.” Mitaka’s stare only intensified. Hux was baffled. “Won’t it be a slight to fairness and your honour as an officer, to bind yourself to me when I’m also with her?”

            “Not in the slightest,” Mitaka responded, so fast he almost interrupted Hux’s question. Hux propped himself on his elbow, but did not let go of Mitaka’s shoulders. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

            They looked at each other, Mitaka trembling with whatever words and emotions he was trying to suppress, Hux trying to see past those dark eyes and decipher the fervent desire at the core of his lieutenant’s being. He thought about all the conversations they had on the topic, from the first evening to Mitaka’s words just now, trying to construct a plausible explanation and resolution. There was another problem brewing already, hours after peace had been achieved. He felt there was only one positive solution and that made him nervous, even if he was so used to first-time successes in his everyday life.

            It was almost if Mitaka wanted him to ask for—

            The realisation dawned on him so hard and so bright his lips parted and his eyes nearly fell from their sockets from the wide-eye stare he gave Mitaka. Was it such a simple solution? And if he had been truly at peace with the situation from the beginning, how was Hux asking him going to change anything?

            “Lieutenant Mitaka.” Mitaka shuddered at being addressed with his title and name. “Would you do me the pleasure of fraternizing exclusively with me?”

            He had expected surprise, especially if he had misread the cues from Mitaka. He had expected joy, beaming smiles, hesitation—but not Mitaka bursting into laugher and pushing himself up to press their foreheads together.

            “I must say, sir,” he murmured, and pecked Hux’s lips. “I can always rely on you to phrase everything like you’re reciting regulation.” He pecked Hux again and was silent for a beat. “It would be an honour for me, Lieutenant Mitaka of the _Finalizer_ , to fraternise exclusively with you,”—another peck—“being fully aware of your relationship with Captain Phasma,”—and another—“whose blessing I—“

            “Start writing my speeches next, Lieutenant Mitaka of the _Finalizer_?” Hux teased him and tilted his head to claim a deep and thorough kiss before he could be teased with another peck. Mitaka wrapped his arms around him and rolled them over so Hux was now on top. He was still grinning and Hux tried his best to kiss away that brilliant smile he otherwise adored.

            When he pulled away Mitaka’s eyes were clear and twinkling with joy, and a deep calm. Hux’s stomach churned with guilt: he never wanted to see, or be the cause of distress in those eyes that looked at him with such adoration.

            “I cannot even look at anyone else the way I look at you,” Mitaka admitted. “I know my professional admiration has a huge role in that, but it’s how I feel.”

            “I can live with that,” Hux told him. He brushed a naughty lock of hair off Mitaka’s forehead. It bounced, and swooped right back over his eyebrow.

            “Look at me while you can,” he said. “Phasma promised to slash me open a third buttock when I’m back on the base.”

            Mitaka let out a small gasp. His hand went straight to Hux’s ass and gave it a light squeeze, as if to make sure it was in its original condition.

            “Did you two…”

            “Oh, we made up,” Hux said. While they showered and went back to the bed he told Mitaka of Zina’s plan and the subsequent conversation with Phasma. Mitaka was a wonderful listener, as always. He had an expression of focus and attention, and let out little gasps and hums every time Hux paused for emphasis. It was like Hux was giving him orders for a special mission. He could kiss him—which he did once he was done.

            “I’m happy everything is in order again,” Mitaka told him. He put his hands on Hux’s hips and pulled Hux against himself as was his habit.

            Hux nodded. “I’m pleased, too. Not so much that I have to go in a couple of hours, but duty comes first.” He furrowed his brows at the general direction of the chrono. “It’s unfortunate that our current state of affairs demands I spend so much time away from the _Finalizer_. I have as much responsibly to the crew of my ship as I do to Starkiller’s personnel.”

            For a moment, he was tempted to tell Mitaka about his bed on the base, and how uncomfortable it was; about the difficulty to adapt to an off-board cycle, all the more on a planet host to so many kyber crystals; and to the nagging feeling that something was fundamentally wrong when he wasn’t in space. He suppressed the desire and opted for pressing his forehead against Mitaka’s one more time.

            “Do you think we don’t know this?” Mitaka chuckled. “This may be Captain Harkov’s ship, but it’s under your command. No one can deny the prestige it carries, even when you’re not on board. Do not underestimate bragging rights.”

            His hand found Hux’s face with some gentle patting around and caressed the line of his jaw. “If it pleases both of you, you can always invite Captain Phasma to … tea.”

            “A sound idea,” Hux muttered. He couldn’t see Mitaka, but he could imagine the expression of tenderness on his face. His heart swelled with sweet-bitter pain, and he recognized some of the threads of emotion he felt whenever he and Phasma had been intimate together. To be so attached to a naval lieutenant, even one stationed on his own ship—it was dangerous, it was against the rules, against all sound logic.

            For Mitaka, he decided in his heart of hearts, it was worth it.

            His better judgement did not argue with him on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements!  
> Many thanks to [kasamon](http://kasamon.tumblr.com/) for working with me on this, and for your art;  
> and to [isharan](http://isharan.tumblr.com/) not only for your thorough work on this, but for taking me last minute and managing everything with perfect grace despite my chaotic schedule and subsequent last-minute requests. You are the best.  
> Technician Zina is portrayed by [Hannah John-Kamen](http://diversehighfantasy.tumblr.com/post/143481073306/hannah-john-kamen-in-the-force-awakens) in The Force Awakens (later, Hux asks her to report before they fire, and then fucks off to another technician).  
> Captain Harkov is an OC with a borrowed last name from the Imperial Admiral Harkov. She is the Captain of the FInalizer.  
> Hux... is a mess.


End file.
